..% 









9' 'J 



V 



^^SlifeS 



'vJ-> ^- 











>^^^ 







4 o. 




1^ ^< 



-^ 







"^ 



Wits: 






.j^c 






•^.- k -a 



G^' 




K\>g^^:>\j 









.'y 




<J^-^:^ 



..digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress , 




.0 



s 






.^ , o - .. 



■^ 



"■^d^ 









http://www.archive.org/details/wanderingthought01park 



WANDERING THOUGHTS 



AND 



WANDERING STEPS. 



BY 

A PHILADELPHIA LADY. 



-?" 



" Go, little book, from this my solitude ! 

I cast thee on the waters, — go thy ways ! 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good," 
A few " will find thee after many days." 



.:^<^, OF CO/./(v>x 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPIJ^COTT & CO. 

18 80. 



THE LIBRARY I 
or CONGRESS I 



WASHINGTON 



Copyright, 1880, by J. B. Lippikcott & Co. 



PEEFAOE. 



Far away toward the rising sun is our Mecca, the 
Old World. Toward its shrines, pilgrim-like, our 
steps wander. We put on our sandals, prepare our 
scrip, take up our staff, and turn to seek a companion 
with whom to cull sweet flowers by the wayside, and 
to chat on subjects " grave and gay, pleasant and se- 
vere.^^ 

Will you, kind reader, be our companion while we 
thus beguile the way and peep — only peep — into a few 
interesting places ? If so, w4ien arrayed in a vesture 
of that gentle ^^ charity which believeth all things, 
hopeth all things,^' and forgiveth all imperfections, we 
shall recognize in you the sympathetic friend and 
reader whom we seek. 

Our first literary venture is a very modest one. We 
launch our little bark on the tide of public opinion. 



6 PREFACE. 

conscious that it will be buffeted by many waves/but 
trusting that it will not be utterly wrecked through 
harsh criticism. 

"Be to its virtues very kind, 
Be to its faults a little blind." 



OOll^rTENTS. 



CHAPTEK I. 
Paris — Versailles ........ 9 

CHAPTER II. 
Nice — Genoa 32 

CHAPTEPv III. 
Pisa — Elorence 47 

CHAPTER IV. 
Rome . 61 

CHAPTER V. 

Naples — Pompeii — Vesuvius — Passtum ... 80 

CHAPTER VI. 
Venice 97 

CHAPTER VII. 

Milan — Lake Como 109 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Switzerland . .122 

CHAPTER IX. 

Chamouni — Geneva — Chillon . . . . ' . . 134 

CHAPTER X. 

Lausanne — Ereyburg — Lucerne — Lake Thun — Interlachen 149 

7 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XT. page 

Munich — Carlsbad 168 

CHAPTER XII. 

Berlin — Potsdam — Nuremberg 178 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Heidelberg— Frankfort 197 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Baden-Baden — Cologne 207 

CHAPTER XY. 

London — Spurgeon — Hampton Court 225 

CHAPTER XVI. 

"Windsor Castle — Stoke-Pogis — The Dairyman's Daughter . 240 

CHAPTER XVI I. 

Oxford— Kenihvorth—Haddon Hall— Chatsworth . . 249 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Stratford-on-Avon 264 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Chester — The Lake Region — A Remarkable Drive . . 276 

CHAPTER XX. 

Edinburgh — The Trosachs — Scottish Lakes — G-lasgow . 287 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Abbotsford— Melrose Abbey— Carlisle .... 300 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Homeward Bound — Our Ship — The Voyage . .. . 311 



WANDERING THOUGHTS AND WAN- 
DERING STEPS. 



CHAPTER I. 
PARIS— VERSAILLES. 

PARIS, 

"We consider it a happy fact that our first introduc- 
tion to Paris is by gaslight; for so dazzlingly brilliant 
are the scenes that meet our delighted gaze as we ride 
through the grand boulevards, that we think their 
splendors must pale under the light of a mid-day sun ; 
probably remembering that those physical charms that 
are often bewildering under the gaslit chandelier wane 
under the prosaic, disenchanting light of day. Of no 
luxury is Paris more prodigal than that of gas; the 
streets at night are ablaze with it, and when the hun- 
dreds of jets are arranged, as on the Champs Elys^es, 
in fanciful designs, the effect is resplendent beyond 
description; we need not look up into the firmament 
above, for stars of scintillating ray are shining around 

2 9 



XO WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

US, making the air quivering and bright with their 
twinkling light. 

The boulevards are swarming with the most animated 
life; for French life is an out-door one, and it is here 
that the cream of society floats on the surface, while 
the less attractive phase of human existence is so far 
below that one seldom meets with it. We think that 
the distinguishing peculiarity of Paris street-life is that 
nothing repulsive ever obtrudes itself; all is glamour, 
brightness, and exuberance, w^ith no suggestion of sid?:- 
ness, cloud, sorrow, or death. 

As we ride through boulevards, each of marvellous 
width, allowing ^^ ample room and verge enough" for 
the gay, good-humored crowds, numberless concert- 
gardens glittering with illuminated lights; "the night 
filled with music;'' laughter refined, often feminine, 
mingling joyously on the air; the hundreds of seats 
on the broad avenue filled with elegance and fashion ; 
military accoutrements flashing in the light; clashing 
swords giving a martial ring to the gay sounds, we 
repeat our felicitations that this brilliant phase of 
human life — the brightest we have ever seen — should 
be our introductory experience to this, the most brilr 
liant city of the world. Imagining that the next morn- 
ing the streets, like deserted banqueting halls, will 
show only the traces of a past revelry, seeming in the 
whitish glare of day comparatively unattractive. 



PARIS. • 11 

A cup of nectar, as we think, but called by the 
ordinary name of coffee ; rolls, white, crisp, and tooth- 
some, with tiny moulds of unsalted butter, form the 
dainty repast brought to our room next morning. 
A leisurely, luxurious toilet, a wandering through 
the salons, and we are summoned to the eleven o'clock 
French breakfast, dejeuner ct la fourchette, after which 
our first day in Paris begins. 

We feel sure that the sun loves Paris; it seems 
always to hover in its sky, shedding upon the glorious 
city its most beaming rays. On one of the brightest 
of days we take a carriage and give ourselves up to 
enjoyment, for this is a lesson quickly learned of the 
people. We have no recollection of any experience 
more delightsome than a ride through the boulevards 
of Paris. Their surface being as smooth as glass, one 
is never rocked or jostled, but borne on gently and 
swiftly through scenes fascinatingly animated and 
bright. As we glide by stores, magnificent in display 
and decoration ; buildings suggestive of affluence, gran- 
deur, and old-time royalty ; fashion rampant ; women 
piquant and sparkling ; men the pink of elegance and 
the very synonyme of polish and grace ; fountains 
whose waters seem to shower diamonds; statues world- 
famed; towers and monuments of rare historic inter- 
est, and parterres gleaming on every side with a 
luxuriant growth of shrubs and flowers ; the air, 



12 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

mellowed by a grateful warmth, seeming perfumed 
in its deliciousness ; music floating dreamily on the 
air, we feel that this world is full of beauty, joy, and 
charm. 

The Seine, which divides the city into two parts, is 
crossed by twenty-seven bridges, and its pretty banks, 
as we approach the rural suburbs of the city, during 
an excursion to St. Cloud, form a most picturesque 
feature. Some of its bridges are of grand construction, 
and are graced with fine statuary. 

Passing through the magnificent Place de la Con- 
corde, where colossal statues, representing the principal 
cities of France, surround two mammoth fountains, we 
enter the Champs Elysees, an avenue that has no 
rival in Europe and is the centre of the social world. 
It presents a scene gorgeous and dazzling ; it seems to 
be an epitome of all the varied delights that can greet 
the senses. Many beautiful kiosks and chalets; fanci- 
ful cafes embowered in green and gay with music; 
sumptuous equipages in showy liveries dashing by 
the grand arch which crowns the summit; equestrians 
superbly mounted ; gay crowds comj^osed of the repre- 
sentatives of every nation, it would seem. Orientals 
often in their national garb ; even peasants giving 
quaint charm to the picture by their unique, bright 
costume ; fountains playing ; trees o'ershadowing ; 
flowers blooming; men wooing; women flirting; na- 



PARIS. 13 

ture and mechanical skill contributing from their deep- 
est resources to form a scene of perfect beauty and 
human felicity. Dull care is exiled ; ennui unknown ; 
poverty a stranger ; and the thought of death banished 
from the mind, 

^We cannot imagine a scene more impregnated with 
all the elements of joyous life, where the most phleg- 
matic must be moved to vivacious expression and the 
most stolid won from their habitual apathy. Paris 
seems to be the city counterpart of the country Eden 
of our first parents, offering all the delights possible to 
a town residence. 

Beyond the Arc de Triomphe lies the Bois de Bou- 
logne, with its rural attractions, which, however, were 
much despoiled by the rude touch of the late war. 
We remember with pleasure taking this famous drive 
many years since, when royalty gave eclat to a scene as 
brilliant as the human imagination could conceive. A 
coach and four, with outriders, announced the fact that 
the emperor, Napoleon III., was approaching. There 
he sat impassive, silent and self-absorbed, accompanied 
by several august-looking personages. Catching his eye, 
we bowed, and he, probably recognizing the courtesy 
as from those whose country was always kindly re- 
membered by him, doffed his hat graciously to us. It 
was the last time that we met the man who, then at 
the pinnacle of human power and greatness, was, ere 



14 WAN DERI IS G THOUGHTS. 

long^ to die in ignominious exile, shorn of all that had 
made life to him a brilliant victory. 

Alas! what tragedies do human experiences often 
afford! How little thought she— Eugenie— whose 
queenly appearance suggested the title; whose graceful 
form, regal air, and charming beauty so well became 
royal attire and dignity, that before a decade had passed 
she would be an object of such pitiable commiseration 
as to win tears from all womanly eyes ! 

At the hotels and in most of the stores on the Con- 
tinent there is always some one to be found who un- 
derstands and can speak English, but the drivers are 
all most provokingly tenacious of their own idiom, 
and will neither understand our native tongue nor its 
substitute,— pantomime. There are, however, so many 
English and Anierican travellers who speak French, 
that there is almost always some good Samaritau 
among them who will step forward and create an 
understanding between perplexed parties; so that one 
does not often experience painfully the need of the 
accomplishment, although the ability to speak the 
French is convenient, and adds materially to the 
pleasure of foreign travel. 

The experience of an American lady whom we met 
in Paris is a representative one, and we will endeavor 
to " tell the tale as 'twas told to us." 

Mrs, C. was theoretically acquainted with the French 



PARIS. 15 

language, but had never been made familiar with its 
verbal practice, her ear and tongue being alike unedu- 
cated to its use. Her husband's knowledge consisted 
of a heterogeneous collection of words which lacked 
linguistical cement, if we may use the expression, to 
connect into intelligible sentences. Imagine the pair, 
then, during their first afternoon in Paris, as having 
the courage to enter a voiture, utterly unable to pro- 
nounce the names of the streets in a comprehensible 
manner, and trusting to that good genius — luck — whicli 
had so far befriended them. To find the address of a 
certain friend was their first object; congratulating 
themselves upon the driver's evident understanding of 
their maiden attempts at his own language, they gave 
themselves up to an enjoyment of the fleeting pano- 
rama as they drove through the gorgeous streets of 
the wonderful city. But, unhappily, their pleasure 
was soon at an end : the carriage halted at the entrance 
to a mean court, and Mr. C. jumping boldly out and 
knocking at the first door, was met by a bland, smiling 
Frenchwoman who, alas ! could not understand a word 
of his query. On he passed from door to door, and 
before many moments was surrounded by vociferating 
women, each trying to explain and inquire, until he 
was wellnigh deafened and distracted by their futile 
attempts to relieve his perplexity. Mrs. C. rushed 
forward, followed by the driver, only increasing the 



16 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Babel by the addition of their tongues. At length, 
struck by a happy thought, one woman, with beaming 
face and earnest gesture, motioned them toward a door 
which they had not seen. In response to her rap a 
pleasant, handsome man made his appearance, who, 
upon reading the ill-fated address on the card they 
handed him, spoke a few magic words to the puzzled 
driver, and, with true French grace and politeness, 
with many a smile and bow, received their cordial 
thanks. All looked relieved ; the crowd dispersed ; 
Mr. and Mrs. C. re-entered the voiture and drove oif 
with lightened hearts. 

Their next halt was at the desired haven ; but when 
that business was accomplished their troubles were re- 
newed. Mrs. C. sat in the voiture, while her husband, 
facing the driver, endeavored by pantomime to explain 
that they would like to drive up and down the splendid 
boulevards. Giving a wide sweep with his hand, he 
was startled to find it had come into contact with a 
man's hat. The man, a peaceable citizen walking the 
street, was staggered by the blow, which had wellnigh 
struck him in the face, and turning to inquire angrily 
into the matter, was met by such profuse apologies 
from the driver, who sought to explain the inadvert- 
ence, and by such gesticulations of regret from the 
unlucky stranger, that his rising choler was appeased, 
and he passed on. Here Mr, C, wellnigh discouraged, 



PARIS. 17 

stood with corrugated brow, striving to root out from 
his memory the desired words to explain his wishes, 
when suddenly his face brightened and his thought 
blossomed into the words ^^ Allez ct les belles femmes,^' 
as he jumped with satisfied air into the voiture. 
' This was more than Mrs. C.'s equanimity could bear, 
and, catching the driver's sympathizing glance at her 
and his horrified gaze upon her husband, she hastily 
explained, " Non, non, il veitt dire les beaux magasins/' 
and, leaning back in the carriage, yielded to a hearty 
burst of laughter. Up scrambled the driver, and, 
cracking his whip, off he drove. ^^ Do you suppose," 
said Mrs. C, after they had ridden some time, "that 
he finally understood ?'^ 

"I know not," said her husband, in despairing 
tones. " Let him take us where he will, I shall not 
try again f and, applauding the wisdom of the resolve, 
she followed his example. 

A prominent and popular institution in Paris is its 
hotel-life, delightfully represented in "The Conti- 
nental," which is capable of accommodating fifteen 
hundred guests; and happy guests they should be, w^ith 
every comfort provided and luxuries abounding. Its 
banqueting-hall of mammoth proportions and regal 
in its appointments is worthy in fresco, carving, archi- 
tectural finish, gorgeous draperies, paintings, superb 
furniture, and crystal to be famed as an appropriate 

2- 



18 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

appendage to any palace in Europe. This apartment 
is reserved for unusual occasions, and for an extra 
tahle-d'hote on the Sabbath, when its immense tables 
are crowded with a brilliant company, mostly from 
Paris circles. 

We live, indeed, in a luxurious age, when, for a few 
dollars per day, we may, by registering our names at 
such a hotel, enjoy the luxuries afforded by the rarest 
cuisine; well-trained attendance and a wealth of beauty 
displayed in chambers and salons ; without effort fan- 
cying ourselves legitimate incumbents of a palace; 
with the added blessing of security, which such do 
not always enjoy; going out and coming in without 
fear of the assassinating knife or traitorous gunpowder. 

After a day spent, as can be nowhere outside of 
Paris, we make as elaborate a toilet as is possible for 
tourists, and descending, enter the brilliant salons, now 
dazzling with artificial light and charming with human 
grace and beauty. Having previously procured the 
tickets to be presented at the door of the salle cb 
manger^ we join the crowd, and find ourselves soon 
seated at one of the many large tables. We look 
around us. The scene is an impressive one, and 
would be if the apartment itself were the only object 
of interest. It is immense, with very lofty ceiling, 
which repays one for the effort of upward gazing, as it 
glitters in the flood of gaslight with brilliant, artistic 



PARIS. 19 

beauty ; mirrors sparkle everywhere ; fine frescoed 
pictures filling intermediate spaces^ while the tables 
are made bright and alluring by a profusion of rare 
plants and flowers, silver and white and colored cry&txl. 

But the human is an important element of attraction, 
and the rustling of silks and the flashing of diamonds 
invite the wondering gaze to women whose beauty 
gladdens not only masculine eyes, but those of their 
less-favored sisters, however incredulous men may be 
of the fact. Some radiant in natural charms, and all 
in those of elegant dress, their finer sensibilities exhil- 
arated by the splendor, brightness, and glow around 
them ; men in studied toilets, their gallantry appearing 
in gracious form, with faces expressing content with 
the prospect before them. 

The tables are of great width, permitting one, if 
inclined, to comment upon a vis-d-vis without detec- 
tion. No bustling, obtrusive service to annoy; the 
quick, noiseless tread of attendants adding animation 
to the scene. No clatter of dishes, only the faint 
sound of glass and china, which is pleasantly suggestive 
to the waiting appetite. We have it proved to us that 
the French are masters of the gastronomic art ; dain- 
ties of wondrous concoction, which defy analysis, must 
be partaken of with a simplicity of faith which is 
rewarded through the palate. 

The scene gathers interest. The feast of appetite 



20 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

induces a "flow of soul f faces brighten under stimu- 
lating influences, and, although voices are modulated 
by refined instinct, yet there is a livelier ring in their 
notes as the talk flows on the crimson tide of wine. 
It is an inspiriting scene of elegance, display, and 
animated enjoyment, which all, whatever the tempera- 
ment, must recognize and respond to. 

We are all more or less sybarites by nature; even 
those endowed with natural energy, if necessity did 
not urge its exertion, or some other impelling motive 
did not prompt its exercise, would soon be found drift- 
ing on some sunny, sluggish stream of life, ready to 
anchor in any inviting harbor. 

The love of luxurious ease is natural, and, however 
antagonistic it may be to the previous habits of a man's 
life, it is astonishing how quickly he becomes enam- 
ored of the seductive charms of an elegant leisure. 

After the dinner, which has occupied an hour and a 
half, we saunter into the salons, one of which in all its 
details is a perfect imitation of a Turkish apartment. 
The effect is delightful, heightened by soft music, mel- 
low lights, and gliding forms in rich array ; and as, 
through satisfaction of appetite, an impetus is given to 
the social nature, a pleasing hum of voices makes a 
flowing undercurrent of sound. 

Donning our overgarments, we are soon on our way 
to probably the grandest opera-house in the world. It 



PARIS. 21 

"Nvas a pet creation of Napoleon III., and in every 
particular testifies to its exceeding cost and magnifi- 
cence. Indeed, it would be difficult to distract one's 
attention from the elaborate architectural and artistic 
beauties of the building to concentrate it upon the 
stage and the players. The entrance and the corridors, 
which form a grand promenade between the acts, are 
majestic and splendidly imposing. The situation of 
the opera-house is well chosen, as it is in the vicinity 
of several fine boulevards, for which also we are in- 
debted to the late emperor, who imprinted upon the 
city, which it was his ambition to embellish and glorify, 
his own elegant and, it would seem, classical taste. 
"Whatever his weaknesses and even faults, we will not 
withhold the admiring commendation due his laudable 
and successful efforts to make Paris the city of the 
world, a city " whose light cannot be hid.'' May it 
continue to enliven and gladden the world with its 
gayety and wondrous brilliancy ! 

Paris in its brightness and magnificence is as inde- 
scribable as it is unrivalled; its boulevards, avenues, 
and principal streets are truly wonderful ; their great 
distances, colossal statues, abundance of verdure and 
foliage, and fine stores, in the windows of which the 
elegant fabrics are arranged with all the skill, fancy, 
and taste which distinguish the French, produce such 
an effect as dazzles and fascinates the beholder. 



22 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

We draw a deep sigh as we turn our backs upon the 
seductive delights of a city where gloom seems a 
stranger, and where, unlike any other known spot on 
the globe, no lurking shadows hover. Charm is some- 
thing so subtile in its nature that it eludes verbal or 
written description, so that we can never hope to ana- 
lyze the attraction which Paris has for all who have 
walked in its sunshine and mingled in its gay, brilliant 
scenes. 

Very many have explored the heaii of a city, but 
how few comparatively have j)enetrated to its very 
bowels. This we do in visiting the intestine-W^Q sewer- 
age of Paris. They are one of the most astonishing 
features of this remarkable city^ and are a triumph 
of engineering skill ; the prose of Paris life, while its 
poetry rises higher, having rare illustrations in the 
art-galleries and even in some phases of street-life. 

The most singular excursion we have ever made is 
through these sewers. So great is the demand for en- 
trance that is extremely difficult to obtain a permis, 
and it can only be accomplished through the influence 
of our resident minister. 

A friend, with "power at court,'^ procuring admis- 
sion for himself and family, includes us in the novel 
experience. A party of a dozen sallying out at mid- 
day find themselves standing around a flat grating on 
the sidewalk, under the very shadow of the beautiful 



PARIS. 23 

Church of the Madeleine. Presently the square grat- 
ing is uplifted, revealing a stone flight of winding 
stairs, narrow, dark, and uninviting. 

" Deep was tlie cave, and downward as it went 
From the wide moutli a rocky, rough descent ; 

And there . . . th' lake extends 
O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light, 
No bird presumes to steer his airy flight." 

Arriving at the base we look instinctively around 
for the old boatman, Charon, for it seems to our ex- 
cited imagination that the river Styx flows sluggishly 
by at our feet. What we do see is a turgid stream, 
whose dark waters betray its impurity, and on it, 
awaiting our entrance, a boat resembling an ordinary 
row-boat. Attached to it by ropes are two men, who 
are to pull it forward. On each side of this murky 
river is a narrow tow-path, wide enough for a single 
man. We look aloft and around us to find our vision 
bounded by the colossal iron sewers through which we 
could travel three hundred miles under the city. The 
sombre gloom of this subterranean passage is relieved 
by lamps such as are used to light the streets above. 
They emit a lurid flame that adds to the weirdness of 
the scene, and as the eye glances forward to an appar- 
ently interminable distance the eflbct is very peculiar. 
The sullen waters purged of palpable impurities are 



24 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

yet impregnated with their essences^ and fail to reflect 
clearly the ruddy lights which strive to brighten them. 

They are like many souls which, clouded by the 
darkness of sin, repel Heaven's light and refuse to 
open their recesses to its healing beams. On and on 
we speed, drawn by the two fleet human steeds mile 
after mile, knowing always our location, as the lamp- 
posts bear the names of the streets under which we 
are floating. Peering into the dim distance thp im- 
mense sewer seems to narrow to impassable limits, and 
yet when we reach that horizon, we find ourselves still 
in apparently unrestrained liberty. 

At the expiration of perhaps half an hour we are 
disembarked and transferred to an open car, which 
runs on rails and spans a narrower stream. The car 
is drawn, as was the boat, by men, and so rapidly do 
they bear us along that we are surprised, on reaching 
the terminus of our ride, to find that they are not 
breathless, but all standing quietly by in their harness 
with no appearance of weariness. To our great relief 
we find no dog Cerberus guarding the portal as we 
emerge from the Stygian gloom. 

Mounting the stone steps, we are once more denizens 
of the upper regions. Surely we have been in the lower 
long enough, and are glad now to inflate our lungs 
with the pure air and feast our eyes with the bright 
sunlight, which seems to gladly greet us once again. 



VERSAILLES. 25 



VERSAILLES, 



The ride by rail to Versailles is an interesting one, 
not only from its natural picturesqueness, but because 
it introduces us to that portion of the country made 
memorable by being the site of many battles fought 
between Germany and France. Here, as in Paris, all 
traces of devastation are being obliterated, it seeming 
to be the policy of the republic — a policy well con- 
ceived — to teach the people forgetfulness by removing 
all vestiges of an experience harrowing and fermenting 
to the thought and disturbing to the peace. 

Reaching Versailles, once a populous city, but long 
since dwindled to the insignificance of a sluggish town, 
we find an omnibus awaiting the arrival of the train. 
With dismay we are compelled to the necessity of 
mounting a narrow flight of steps to occupy seats on 
the top. To what strange expedients does travel re- 
strict one ! Having many times before experienced its 
arbitrary power, we are the better prepared now to ac- 
commodate ourselves to the unfeminine situation. So 
" screwing our courage to the sticking-point'^ we scale 
the ladder, conscious that we are attentively watched 
by masculine eyes from within ; for whoever knew a 
Frenchman to turn them away at such a time? al- 
though his inborn politeness would forbid the nearest 



26 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

approach to a smile, a restraint which our awkward- 
ness must make painful. 

The Palace is an architectural marvel, probably the 
finest royal residence in the world ; it is more than 
eight hundred feet long, and contains, beside eight 
magnificent salons of paintings and statuary, a gallery 
two hundred and thirty-two feet long, thirty broad, and 
thirty-seven high, and is lighted by seventeen immense 
windows. It is unsurpassed in magnificence by any 
in Europe, being an enduring monument to the fame 
of Lebrun, to whom it is indebted for its architectural 
perfection. We look in upon the chamber in which 
Louis XIV. closed his brilliant reign : the bed on 
which he died has been restored to its original condi- 
tion; and, as if to present a marked contrast, the next 
room shown is where Louis XVI. used to dine in 
public on Sundays with his queen, Marie Antoinette. 
Among the salons is the card-room where Madame de 
Montespan is said to have lost in one night four hun- 
dred thousand pistoles. The effect of all this display 
of immensity, grandeur, beauty of decoration, of fur- 
niture, and of artistic treasure upon those whose tastes 
and associations are of republican simplicity is almost 
overwhelming. We experience actual relief w^hen in- 
troduced into that part of the Palace containing the 
petites appa7'tement8 de 3Iarie Antoinette^ for they are 
marked by an even uninviting degree of plainness, 



VERSAILLES. 27 

singularly destitute of the luxurious embellishments 
which abound elsewhere. 

Within the boundaries of the park are the two villas 
called the Grand and the Petit Trianons. The first 
was built by Louis XIV. for Madame Maintenon. 
It is in Italian style, and consists of but one story with 
two wings, and is handsomely ornamented with paint- 
ings and statuary. The Petit Trianon is small and 
of simple construction, built by Louis XV. for Ma- 
dame Du Barry, and afterwards appropriated by Marie 
Antoinette as the nucleus of a little Swiss village, com- 
posed of a few rustic houses, a mill, and a dairy. 'Tis 
said that, surfeited with the splendors of the great 
Palace and ennuied with the cold formalities of court- 
life, she delighted to escape from them, seeking with her 
husband this rural retreat for a while to play the role 
of pastoral queen. A part of the romance was to go 
to the dairy, and there skim the milk with queenly 
hands and pat the butter into pretty forms between 
her delicate royal palms. Indeed, she might well be 
pleased with her novel task, for the dairy, situated in 
a lovely, sylvan spot, secluded from courtly or rustic 
gaze, amid sweet growth of shrub and tree, furnished 
with white marble shelves, a crystal stream running 
through, forms a graceful little temple for the royal 
worshipper of pastoral life. 

It is affirmed that this pretty conceit of the romantic 



28 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

queen cost her the respect of her subjects, who, loving 
display and magnificence in the royal estate, had no 
sympathy with this unqueenly whim. Believing, too, 
that courtly dignity was forfeited thereby, the prejudice 
already springing up against her was increased by this 
really harmless indulgence. 

As we saunter through the pleasant woods back to 
the Petit Trianon we are filled with sad, regretful 
thought, that this innocent, pure-minded woman, with 
such a yearning for the simple joys of life, weary of 
the burdensome obligations of royal rank, should, by 
courting happiness in its simplest forms, have incurred 
denunciation. We should think that womanly sympa- 
thy and chivalric admiration and approval would have 
been her meed, instead of condemnation for this and 
for the other frivolous oiFences which culminated in her 
terrible fate. In the Petit Trianon we stand in the 
small room which the queen and the king occupied ; 
the furniture, even to the simple bed, standing as they 
did one hundred years ago, when this pretty farce of 
country life was enacted. The dressing-table is mounted 
with a glass exceedingly small, but large enough to 
reflect the sweet face and the delicate neck which were 
to be sacrificed to the guillotine by the cruel mandate 
of an infuriated people. Not satisfied with the blood 
of the weak-minded king, they thirsted for that of the 
woman whose dignified mien, courageous bearing, and 



VERSAILLES. 99 

gentle patience, during the last months of her life, 
proved her to have been a woman of character and of 
magnanimous soul. 

The park pertaining to the Palace is fifty miles in 
circumference, and offers the most diversified attraction 
of temples, pavilions, artificial lakes, groves, parterres, 
and shrubbery, with a prodigal display of exquisite 
statuary. The fountains are numerous, and when play- 
ing present the most extraordinary spectacle of the 
kind in the world. The magnificence of the park and 
gardens accords with that of the grand structure to 
which they belong. They are most surely the creation 
of great talent, the more marked as nature lent no aid, 
the grounds being originally peculiarly uninviting, 
offering obstacles even difficult to conquer, "genius 
being obliged to struggle against nature/' But what 
a victory did it achieve ! 

The Coach-House, situated between the two Trianons, 
contains great curiosities in the way of royal equipages. 
The finest Avas constructed for the coronation of Charles 
X., and was used also at the baptism of the Prince 
Imperial. Here, too, is the coach used by Napoleon I. 
when First Consul; his wedding-coach also, with others 
of inferior beauty, but all of fabulous cost and elegance. 
Heavily gilt, and displaying the most exquisite paintings 
on their panels, they seem like moving thrones for 
mighty gods, or at least for the most august sovereigns. 



30 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

The Republic will scarce employ these wonderful 
chariots^ for ostentatious display ill comports with 
Republicanism^ which is rooted in simplicity, and if 
losing this distinguishing characteristic becomes a mis- 
nomer. How astounding has been the result of this 
republican sentiment in France ! A people naturally 
volatile; remarkably susceptible to outward impressions; 
born and bred amid monarchical scenes ; their national 
vanity and pride pampered by its dazzling display; 
their diversions secured through the ministry of 
ephemeral pleasure,™for it has ever been the policy 
of the French government to amuse the people, thus 
diverting their active minds from serious thought. 
They have witnessed monarchy dethroned, and pomp, 
upon which they once fed, fade out. Martial music 
no longer fills constantly the ear, nor does military 
presence obtrusively make brilliant every promenade 
in Paris, the eclat of royalty being superseded by the 
luiostentatious regime of a republic. 

And yet this people, with an adaptation that has as- 
tonished the waiting world, have so quietly and deter- 
minedly returned to the prosaic industries of life that 
national prosperity is assured, its sun already rising 
in the horizon with a brightness that is an augury of 
a brilliant Future. A Future whose dawning greatness 
shall prove more permanent than any past, because 
founded upon the solid rock of Republicanism, whose 



VERSAILLES. 31 

crystallized elements are literal Liberty, Equality, and 
Progress. 

A sc^f-governing people is the most reliable and 
substantial, because to feel that the reputation and sta- 
bility of the government depend upon its own sobriety, 
dignity, and fidelity, is to develop all that inherent 
force and nobility which is the germ of national as 
well as of individual character, and the responsibility 
of self-government evokes it all. 

Long life to our young sister Republic of France ! 
May her characteristic enthusiasm lead her to continue, 
and to rejoice, in her new liberties; through her won- 
derful ingenuity and skill replenishing her lately ex- 
hausted treasury, and losing the reputation of a char- 
acter governed by impulse and inflammable passion, 
win one for self-control and national stability ! And 
now that the country is no longer under the influence 
of a feminine fanatical papistry, may she become a 
" nation whose God is the Lord !" 

Endowed by nature as the French are with a skill 
and fancy that assume beautiful forms; a grace and 
polish that make them an elegant and attractive people ; 
a politeness and urbanity of manner that win the ad- 
miration of the world, — gifts of such universal bestow- 
ment that the humblest class seem "to the manor born,'^ 
— they are eminently qualified to hold a brilliant and 
prominent place in the family of nations. 



CHAPTER IL 

NICE— GENOA. 

NICE. 

Nice, open to a iioe view of the Mediterranean, is 
half encircled by hills, whose rugged sides afford sites 
for many villas. The old portions of the city are 
dirty and dilapidated, its streets dark, narrow, and 
crooked ; while the new, through the influx of visitors, 
has been made very elegant by the erection of fine 
buildings and the opening of grand boulevards. 

A curious feature of the view from our window is 
that of a walk on the flat roofs of some low-built 
houses, and as we write we see many passing to and 
fro on the strange thoroughfare. Our eye wanders 
beyond to the swelling sea, which is reflecting with 
dazzling brilliancy the glare of a meridian sun. The 
scene is an interesting and animated one, and presents 
characteristic features of lowly life in this olden town. 
The fishermen and their wives are mingling together, 
engaged in their respective avocations; the men disen- 
tangling their nets and arranging fishing-tackle, or in 
32 



NICE. 33 

their little rocking boats catching sardines; women 
in groups, talking and washing ; the beach covered 
with clothing spread out to dry; the waves fringed 
with white foam dashing up against the shore. And 
little children toying with the white sand, stopping at 
times to cast wondering glances over the surging sea, 
by their careless grace and bright movements add com- 
pleteness to a scene worthy the eye and pencil of an 
artist. 

Not far beyond is a walk lined with trees and called 
the " Promenade des Anglais," built by the subscription 
of some English, who wished in a time of great desti- 
tution to give employment to the poor of the town. 
It is the fashionable resort during an hour or two at 
noon, when the scene is enlivened by music from a 
band in the Jardin Publique at the extremity of the 
Promenade. Gay bevies of ladies in fascinating toilets 
and gentlemen in exquisite an^ay are standing exchang- 
ing morning greetings or walking n^ and down ; mov- 
ing models of fashion and style ; some cluster around a 
little carriage drawn by a man, in which an invalid is 
seated, for this climate so salubrious, and its air so pure, 
bright, and healthful, is found to be healing to irritated 
lungs and reviving to enfeebled frames. We have sel- 
dom witnessed such a scene; for although our American 
watering-places present such a panorama of elegance, 
yet here, the winter's resort of Europe, one may meet 

3 



34 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the representatives of every nation, and this infinite 
variety is very refreshing. 

The suburbs of Nice present very deliglitful views, 
for here nature has lavished her treasures of sea and 
mountain, blossom and foliage. A drive on the banks 
of the Mediterranean affords a rare combination of 
loveliness and of European luxury. Fields of living 
green dotted with trees, some in full bloom, others 
weighed down with their rich burden of golden fruit 
in beautiful contrast with the dark green of the foliage; 
the dappled skies of silvery clouds, golden lights, and 
azure ; the profusion of flowers, cacti, geraniums, and 
blossoming vines; the ever-changing sea, with the 
Italian villas on its borders and the protecting hills 
which crown the landscape. 

In the rear of our hotel is a high hill, which forms 
by terraces a fine garden ; its gravel walks are bor- 
dered with the luxuriant growth of flowers indigenous 
to this clime and a great variety of fruitful trees, the 
olive, date, pepper, orange, and lemon. Mounting 
several terraces we come to an old tower and fortress, 
enjoying a view whose wide sweep embraces the town, 
the sea, and the mountain ranges, and we wonder 
not to learn that this romantic ruin was the chosen 
spot of Meyerbeer while writing his opera '^ Robert 
Le Diable.^' 

Not far distant, within a grove redolent with the 



NICE. 35 

perfume of rare plants, and amid a wealth of bloom, 
is a mausoleum erected to the memory of the eldest 
son of the Emperor of Russia. The Czarowitz, who 
was twenty-two years of age when he died, had come 
from his own northern home to seek in this balmy 
clime relief from his sufferings; and perhaps he even 
dreamed that its soft southern breezes would bear 
health on their wings ; but, alas ! the dread fiat, which 
comes alike to prince and peasant, had gone forth, 
and he died here, in a house which stood on the spot 
where his parents have erected this costly and elegant 
memorial. Its entrance is of marble and stained glass, 
and within are exquisite paintings in niches on the 
wall. As we enter the eye first falls upon an altar 
which is entirely covered Avith richly decorated cloth, 
in front of which is a rug beautifully embroidered by 
his mother; on this a bouquet of natural flowers had 
been placed the day before by a sister of the deceased. 

Surrounding this altar are three fine paintings, the 
first representing the baptism of the Czarowitz imme- 
diately after his birth ; the next, the centre one, the 
patron saint; the third, the death-scene, with angels 
hovering near. The dome is very high and gorgeously 
ornamented in gold and fresco. Three times a year 
the Greek service is performed w^ithin this miniature 
chapel. 

Remembering that Nice is the birthplace of Gari- 



36 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

baldi, we seek out the home of his early years, finding 
it in an humble house, poor and dirty. At the head 
of the stone stairs a marble slab has been inserted in 
the wall, on whicli are inscribed his name and the year 
of his birth, 1807. The room in which the mother 
bore the embryo patriot is very small, with floor of 
red tile; the only article of furniture is the bed stand- 
ing in an alcove, A very aged woman, soiled and 
grotesque in appearance, shows us his picture, below 
which he had written his name, with the words, " To 
the friend of my childhood.'' She had known him 
when, as a child, he had played on that very floor, and 
is proud and happy to find that we Americans have 
come to do honor to the patriot. 

A ride over the Corniche Road, one of the most 
beautiful in Europe, introduces us to nature's grandest 
forms of beauty. The sea on one side and "Alps 
piled on Alps" on the other. Never have our "eyes 
rested upon views more sublime at times, and at others 
more picturesque and lovely. We ascend to a height 
of twenty-two hundred feet above the level of the sea, 
looking down upon towns with their towering steeples, 
which seem dwarfed in the distance ; upon valleys fer- 
tile and pastoral, suggestive of peace, quiet, and plenty; 
and upon the Mediterranean Sea, the white-crested 
waves gleaming like silver spangles, and the variety 
of colors blending as in an exquisite painting; ships. 



NICE. 37 

like toys, on its mirrored surface; the sunlight shed- 
ding a halo of light upon the distant hill-tops. Leafy 
dales and glens, filled with soft shadows, nestling in 
the lap of huge mountains ; stupendous rocks mounting 
toward heaven, with a crown of snow upon their lofty 
brows. Billowy Alpine hills assuming majestic forms, 
the rays of the setting sun seeming to deck, as with 
rubies, their coronets and breast-plates of snow ; some 
of them dotted to their summits with cottages and 
hamlets. Many ruins of buildings supposed to have 
been built before the Christian era ; dilapidated vil- 
lages ; gigantic crosses ; mules with panniers, such as 
we have seen in pictures ; peasantry with their bright- 
colored, picturesque costume ; vegetation rich and 
abounding; shrubbery in full blossom, all conspire 
to form a view worthy of the original divine benedic- 
tion, "And God saw everything that he had made, 
and behold it was very good." 

An hour's ride by rail brings us to Monaco, the cap- 
ital of the smallest monarchy in Europe, It is com- 
posed of fifteen hundred souls; boasts of a little fleet, 
two cannons, a few soldiers, a palace, and a Casino, 
whose gorgeous salons are the attraction which allures 
many strangers. Introduced for the first time to a 
place of this character, we see much to interest, to 
astonish, and to shock. 

The spacious salons into which we are ushered are 



38 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

dazzling in display and regal in all their appointments. 
Art has contributed in many forms to make the scene 
beguiling and fascinating. The breath of exotics bur- 
dens the air with its oppressive sweetness, their bloom 
delighting the eye with brilliant hues ; music in stirring 
strains, and in the softest and most subtile, excite, stim- 
ulate, and inflame. The light of day, too prosaic for 
such a scene, is excluded, and gas-light, which can be 
made tributary to the producing of certain influences, 
is mellowed and subdued ; a suppressed quiet, ye't vital 
with the germ of intense feeling, marks the occasion ; 
while rich color, potent in efi^ect, pervades the air. 
The very atmosphere and all the surroundings con- 
spire to beguile the senses and to pander to the lower 
feelings of human nature. 

In each salon there are several large tables covered 
with green cloth, a revolving wheel set in the centre of 
each. In arm-chairs^ seated as closely as possible, are 
the absorbed players, a crowd of attentive spectators sur- 
rounding them. The study of their faces is a singular 
one. Some, as they stretch forth their polished wooden 
rakes and draw in their gains, look delighted, while 
the unfortunate ones, in many cases, fail to conceal their 
chagrin. At one table stands a young American of 
about twenty, whose evident pleasure as the money he 
has won is handed him attracts our attention. He hesi- 
tatingly lays on the table another coin, and as he sees 



NICE. 39 

it swept away, with lieiglitened color and anxious eye 
repeats the act and re-repeats it, only to lose again and 
again, until in disgust he turns away. 

As we look aloft at the magnificent ceiling, and 
around us upon the gorgeous display of art, decoration, 
and dress, and watch the faces which, in many in- 
stances, express the most evil passions of our nature ; 
seeing women without a blush of shame lay down their 
money, and hoary heads, even, bowing low over their 
gains ; we feel that we have a glimpse of a gilded hell, a 
painted sepulchre, full of corruption and moral death. 

At one of the tables sits the Countess of Homburg, 
a very large lady, painfully lame and very aged, who 
is raking in her gains with great rapidity, wearing an 
expression of almost satanic glee. After playing for 
some time her luck changes, and she rises, declaring 
that she has lost all, declining the suggestion of one 
of the officials, who advises her to try another table. 
We learn that she is an habitue of the Casino, 

Turning away, we saunter out into the open square, 
where are many pretty shops. While looking at some 
jewelry in one of them, a woman of about forty-five, 
dressed in deep mourning, with even a crape veil, 
comes in, and Ijeckoning the proprietor into a recess, 
shows him a ring which she wishes to pawn. Follow- 
ing her back to the gaming-table, where, with purse 
replenished, she stakes at first cautiously and with 



40 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

varied results, we scan her closely; her cheek becomes 
deeply flushed, her eye feverish, and her manner pain- 
fully eager. To see her, a woman, leaning over the 
men's shoulders, and with delicately-gloved hand push 
her money to the position she wishes, and then watch 
with absorbed attention for the result of the throw, 
turning with a despairing look to the manager when 
she loses, and then with a gleam of unholy light in her 
eye when she wins, is at once disgusting and pitiable. 
At length, gathering and clutching her hoard, she 
starts away, counting it as she goes. 

GENOA. 

On leaving Nice for Genoa we take a row-boat to 
convey us to the small steamer lying out in the stream. 
Such vociferation and gesticulation we have never be- 
fore heard or seen, but at length we are safely aboard, 
enjoying extremely the seven hours' trip, which is one 
of great beauty ; for, as we " hug the shore," the Cor- 
niche Road, winding through the mountains, and every 
town and city on their sunny slopes are in plain view. 
The sunlight is brilliant, the water like a mirror, and 
as calm as a summer's sea. 

As we approach Genoa we are delighted with the 
vicNV which opens before us, the port being considered 
one of the finest in Europe. The city, called La 
Superba, from the beauty of its situation, is like 



GENOA. 41 

an amphitheatre on the sea, with mountains towering 
above it. Genoa, although making a grand appear- 
ance as it is approached by water, is not beautiful in 
itself, as many of its streets are dirty, narrow, and 
steep also, the city being built upon a declivity. It 
was a splendid city in former days, and retaining ves- 
tiges of mediseval beauty in its numerous palaces, is 
interesting to the stranger. Some of the churches, 
five and six hundred years old, are replete Avith beauty 
of fresco, marble, and paintings. Huge forms of 
marble and bronze, all hewn from solid blocks of the 
same, and some of the altars inlaid with rare jewels, 
are among the curiosities. Many of the churches 
were built by noble families, and are of great value 
and interest. The Church of the Annunciation is the 
most magnificent in Genoa. The twelve pillars of 
black marble richly inlaid with brilliant colors, the 
rich gilding of the dome and vault, and valuable 
paintings form some of its attractions. 

In the Municipal Palace we are shown some of the 
original manuscripts of Columbus, drawn up in the 
Spanish language, and also the leather bag which he 
used during his first voyage to America to preserve 
the book which contained his diary giving an account 
of his discovery of the New World. The guide tell- 
ing ns that all good Americans kiss the bag, we take 
the hint and press it to our lips, lingering long over 



42 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the sacred relics. Columbus was born in Genoa, and 
although he found in his native land no sympathy with 
his views and aspirations, yet his memory is now cher- 
ished with pride by his countrymen. 

In an adjoining room, on the ceiling, is a fresco paint- 
ing of the interview between Columbus and his royal 
Spanish supporters after his return from America. 
Two Indians, whom he has brought with him, are 
standing by his side ; while pigeons, birds, and North 
American animals are at his feet. The expression of 
astonishment and delight is very apparent on the faces 
of his illustrious auditors as they listen to the thrilling 
narrative of their immortalized proteg6. In the same 
building, in a closet lined with pink wadded silk, hangs 
Paganini's violin and its case. The instrument which 
had breathed forth such marvellous strains in the hands 
of its almost inspired master is further protected in 
glass. 

Perhaps the most ancient curiosity yet shown us is 
a bronze tablet, strongly resembling iron, covered with 
written Roman characters, which are almost obliterated; 
this dates back to one hundred and eighty-seven years 
before Christ. It records the decision of the Koman 
commissioners in a dispute which had arisen between 
the ancient Genoese and their neighbors, the Vitturi, 
in relation to the proper boundary of their respective 
territories. 



GENOA. 43 

We ride to the suburbs of the city to visit the Al- 
bergo de' Poveri; this is a very fine, large building, 
capable of accommodating two thousand two hundred 
persons. It is devoted, as its name implies, to the in- 
terests of the poor. It stands on an elevated position, 
from which we enjoy a delightful view of the city, and 
being brightened by beds of flowers, tastefully arranged, 
is a most attractive spot. We are ushered into immense 
halls lined on each side w^ith colossal statues of the 
founders and other celebrities, but the chief attraction, 
and that which allures us to the spot, is a bas-relief, by 
Michael Angelo, of the '^Dead Christ." It is hung 
over one of the altars in the chapel, and is framed in 
gilt, which seems out of taste and incongruous. It is 
the finest piece of sculpture in Genoa, and should, we 
think, be placed in one of the great cathedrals, where 
it would secure the attention and admiration of every 
stranger. It represents the Virgin, with head draped 
in a- veil hanging in graceful folds around the face, 
which wears the most saintly expression of tender pity 
that we ever saw in marble, painting, or even in the 
" human face divine." Infolded in her arm, with the 
head reposing on her bosom, is the form of her Ador- 
able Son. The pallor of death rests upon the features, 
the eyes closed, and the mouth slightly open, the long 
hair falling back, kept in position by one finger of her 
hand. Oh, what a heavenly face it is! Divine peace 



44 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

and glory seem stamped upon it; the bitterness of death 
is passed J and "Heaven is won!'^ We all stand in awe, 
feeling our spiritual natures thrilled and stimulated by 
the almost inspired symbol. 

In a palace occupied by the daughter of the Marquis 
Pallavicinij the richest noble of the city, we are delighted 
by paintings of the best masters and many elegant and 
curious works of art. One painting represents the 
noble Roman maiden nourishing at her breast her im- 
prisoned father, who had been doomed to the Fmger- 
ing, torturing death of starvation. But the devoted 
daughter, with an ingenuity born of love, conceived 
this novel and touching expedient of succoring her 
beloved parent. The judges, who from a satanic malig- 
nity had consigned her father to an agonizing death, 
wondering at the continued strength and life of their 
victim, enjoined upon his jailers a stricter vigilance, 
which resulted in the discovery of love's stratagem. 
Amazed and touched by this pathetic manifestation of 
human affection, the judges restored to liberty the 
parent so rich in filial devotion. Ah, love hath its 
victories ! 

The mosaic floors and tables in this palace are very 
fine, and the ceilings glitter with fine frescoes. One of 
the salons is hung with the richest flowered silk, some 
with damask, and others with Gobelin tapestry. On a 
table stands a marble cushion covered with wrought 



GENOA. 45 

flowerSj on which rest the sculptured hands of the 
lady of this palatial home. They were modelled from 
life, and are exquisitely small, plump, and tapering. 

Seven miles from the city is a villa belonging to the 
lady's father, whose only child she is. He is fabulously 
rich, and owns in Spain one of its finest estates, Avhich 
he has never yet seen. The villa we visit js one of 
many belonging to him, costing many millions of dol- 
lars. It is made ground, much of the soil, it is said, 
having been brought from the Holy Land and huge 
rocks from the neighboring mountains. There is a 
grotto of stalactites, artificially made, in which is a 
pond with boats upon it. We walk through the mean- 
dering paths of the grotto, — it is a perfect labyrinth, — 
and row out on the pond. As we emerge from the fairy 
spot we see before us in the midst of the water a mar- 
ble temple of Diana. Scattered through the grounds 
are Turkish kiosks and little summer-houses, in which 
concealed jets are made to play suddenly by a sly touch 
of the guide, and a spring, around which are arranged 
the same unseen and dreaded fountains. 

In this interesting park are curious trees, — the cam- 
phor, whose green leaf, if tasted, suggests its character, 
and the cork-tree, which presents a singularly rough, 
gnarled appearance ; also the banana, date, fig, together 
with the cedar of Lebanon, which was transplanted 
from its original sacred soil. The designer of this 



40 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

interesting place, which is too full of curiosities to 
describe in detail, is the owner himself. 

We visited other palaces curious in their crumbling 
decay and marks of antiquity. 

The ladies of Genoa a few years since wore no hats 
or bonnets in the street, but a broad, long breadth of 
white muslin of delicate texture; this was arranged 
becomingly on the head and allowed to flow behind to 
the bottom of the skirt. The lower classes wore a 
head -covering of the same form, but of colored and 
coarser material. In our recent visit to Genoa we find 
that this unique head-dress has been superseded by a 
black lace veil. 



CHAPTER III. 
PISA— FLORENCE. 

PISA. 

We are astonished to find that many of the streets 
in this once great city are grass-grown ; a fact which, 
added to that of the brooding silence and comparative 
absence of human life, gives it the appearance of an 
almost deserted city. How has its greatness fallen ! 
Formerly a powerful city of one hundred and fifty 
thousand inhabitants, now numbering scarcely seven- 
teen thousand. Pisa has been blessed with a brilliant 
prosperity, and has also had an active, warlike experi- 
ence; but gradually sinking into its present sluggish 
insignificance, presents the counterpart of human life 
when it has dwindled into the " lean and slippered 
pantaloon, — mere oblivion, sans everything.^' 

All that is of interest to the traveller is concentrated 
around a square where cluster the Cathedral, the Bap- 
tistery, the Leaning Tower, and the Cemetery. The 
grand Cathedral is the most ancient; it is built in the 
form of a cross, and contains fine statuary, many rare 

47 



48 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

paintings by Andrea del Sarto and others, and remark- 
able old monuments. Over the altar is a colossal mo- 
saic figure representing Christ, looking like a gigantic 
Chinese, singular in its grotesqueness. The altar is 
covered with silver tablets, which cost thirty-six thou- 
sand dollars. Suspended in the nave is the chandelier 
whose oscillations suggested to Galileo™ whose birth- 
place was Pisa— the principle of the pendulum. 

The Baptistery is a large, rotund building of elaborate 
architecture externally, but plain within, containing 
only a large marble baptismal font, and a pulpit sup- 
ported by pillars of rare marble, and covered with 
exquisitely wrought ivory tablets representing our 
Saviour's nativity and crucifixion. But the marvel 
of all is the echo which the guide produces, by his 
voice raised and lowered in a graduated scale. This 
effort is rewarded by a response, in its first notes, as 
powerful as the deepest sounds which an organ gives 
forth ; a harmony profound and soul-thrilling, rever- 
berating from the lofty dome and from all sides of the 
building; then, with a melody exquisite, heavenly in 
its sweetness, seeming to be wafted from some distant 
world and from a divine source, it linger ingly melts 
away on the soft air. An awe, like a spell, descends 
upon us; all that we can do is to whisper, ^^More, 
more;'^ and again the guide evokes from vast, far-away 
realms, it would seem, the seraphic harmony. 



PISA. 49 

This echo, so wonderful, is deservedly considered one 
of the greatest enjoyments of a visit to Pisa. 

Opposite the Baptistery stands the Leaning Tower, so 
justly celebrated. It is very beautiful externally; of 
white marble, consisting of eight rows of pillars, one 
above another, and is one hundred and sixty-eight feet 
high. Built in the twelfth century, all knowledge of 
its origin is obscure, and it is not known whether its 
inclination of fifteen feet from the perpendicular is 
the result of design or of the sinking of the soft soil ; 
the latter is a reasonable supposition, as two public 
buildings in the neighborhood show a slight obliquity 
on the same side. This peculiarity imparts great in- 
terest to the Tower, and as it has stood thus six hundred 
years, no apprehension is felt in ascending it or in loiter- 
ing within its shadow. Its interior is bare and rough ; 
the stone staircase, much worn, is enclosed within the 
wall and lit by loopholes. The gentlemen of the party 
ascend to the dizzy apex, wishing to enjoy the extended 
view to be obtained at such a height ; the guide first re- 
quiring the assurance that they had not indulged in the 
'^ inebriating cup'' at dinner. The ladies are compelled 
to be satisfied with sitting midway on the stairs, await- 
ing the return of their more venturesome companions. 

The Campo Santo — the Cemetery — abounds in relics 
of antiquity, among which are many Roman urns and 
sarcophagi. It is an old church-yard, the soil of nine 



50 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

feet having been brought by the Pisans from Jerusa- 
lem. Surrounded by halls built in the Gothic style, 
it seems to have been the school of the early painters, 
who covered the walls within the enclosed arches with 
curious frescoes, many of them being partially effaced. 
There is a painting of the Inferno, into which a man, 
bound hand and foot, is being thrust headlong. The 
guide laughingly calls our attention to the resemblance 
the unfortunate man's face bears to Bonaparte, inti- 
mating that there is also a similarity in thefr fate. 
Let us, however, exercise charity and believe this idea 
to be merely imaginary. 

We walk by the graves of the ancient nobility, who 
have grand memorials of sculpture to mark their final 
resting-place, ruminating upon the contrast presented 
between these defunct patricians and the modern re- 
publicans who are treading upon their dust, most of 
which had slumbered centuries in these graves before 
our Republican Land was discovered. 

We represent one of the political and commercial 
powers of the world, while their glory has culminated, 
individually, in these graves at our feet, — a death which 
symbolizes that of the national glory of their country : 
its present decadence presenting, at least, a sad contrast 
to its former grandeur. What a commentary upon 
the changes wrought by Time ! So " He putteth down 
one and setteth up another.'^ 



FLORENCE. 51 

While walking in one of the solitary streets of Pisa, 
a man enveloped in blue gown, and mask of the same, 
with eyes gleaming through small apertures, steps 
towards us, holding out a box to solicit charity for 
some benevolent institution. It is a startling appa- 
rition for unaccustomed eyes. We are surprised to 
find that the suppliant is probably a nobleman in dis- 
guise; this humiliating ordeal being often imposed 
upon the rich and proud as a penance for the com- 
mission of some heinous sin. 

FLORENCE. 

Florence is said to be the fairest city of the world, 
and we, on visiting it a second time, are not disposed 
to question its claim to so enviable a reputation. It is 
situated in a fertile valley. The surrounding hills, 
their sunny slopes studded with picturesque villas, 
give beauty to the landscape. The Arno, which di- 
vides the city into two unequal parts, might have 
added beauty to the portions through, which it flows, 
but it is robbed of it by being enclosed within walls. 
Those who have dreamed of its peaceful flow between 
green and flowery banks are disappointed on first see- 
ing it. Nature seems to resent its artificial restrictions, 
and withholds the beauty until later, when its course 
becomes bolder and freer, and it gracefully meanders 
between sunny banks, on which villages nestle, creat- 



52 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ing a picturesque charm that has inspired many a 
poet's song. The river, as it flows through the city, 
is spanned by several bridges, one of which is covered, 
and is lined on both sides with cheap jewelry-shops, 
whose stocks are principally exposed in glass cases out- 
side. One can readily imagine the competition exist- 
ing between the many merchants whose traffic is in 
like commodity. 

The chief architectural ornament of the city is the 
Duomo, or Cathedral ; its grand cupola, the largest in 
the world, designed by Brunelleschi, was so admired 
by Michael Angelo that he adopted it as his model for 
that of St. Peter's at Rome. The floor within the 
Cathedral, and its walls without, are formed of black 
and white marble. The paintings, the frescoes, and 
the statuary are masterpieces of the most eminent 
artists and sculptors ; but one is not easily tempted 
from the contemplation of the beautiful exterior of 
this stately structure, for we have stood spell-bound, 
lost in admiration of its immensity and elaborate 
adornment. We have in this enjoyment an ancient 
and illustrious precedent in the poet Dante ; the stone 
upon which he was wont to sit contemplating the 
grand creation of genius is now inserted in a building 
opposite, with an inscription commemorating the fact. 
The stained glass of the windows is pronounced the per- 
fection of the art, dating back to the fifteenth century. 



FLORENCE. 53 

Yeiy near the Cathedral is the '^ Campanile/^ or bel- 
fry, which is so graceful and beautiful as to deserve 
the praise of Charles V., when he declared it to be 
" worthy of being enclosed in a glass case." 

Opposite the Cathedral is the Baptistery, whose many 
granite pillars supporting the dome are relieved by the 
brilliancy of the mosaic. The three large doors of 
sculptured bronze are miracles of art, Michael Angelo 
declaring them worthy of being the gates of Para- 
dise. The designs, representing the most important 
events of biblical history, require a long time to dis- 
cover and to digest their full meaning and beauty. It 
is here that, according to law, all the infants are 
brought when two days old to be baptized. Two priests 
are constantly officiating, and dirty enough they are. 
While gazing around upon the marble walls of the 
Baptistery and upon its paintings, all of which have 
reference to the ordinance of baptism, we are startled 
by a sound which always awakens interest in the 
feminine heart, — the cry of a babe. We turn to 
witness the ceremony. The father with proud air — 
do we imagine it? — first appears, his youthful look 
surprising us. Then come several lady friends, fol- 
lowed by a white-capped nurse, with a closely swad- 
dled atom of humanity in her arms, its long robe of 
richest lace falling to the floor. We stand awhile, 
instinctively dreaming of the happiness that had been 



54 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

born with the little brown head, which we can faintly 
discern, when a lusty scream breaks rudely upon our 
revery. We scan the priest more closely ; he is put- 
ting salt (!) in the mouth of the little stranger, who 
must imagine, if its powers are sufficiently developed, 
that it has been ushered into a harsh, disagreeable 
w^orld. A few hastily-mumbled prayers, the priest 
is openly paid, and the ceremony, so trying to the 
tiny novitiate, is completed. 

While walking in the street we are startled by en- 
countering a procession of about a dozen men robed in 
black paper-muslin gowns, wearing masks of the same 
color and material, having slits for the eyes. Four of 
these sepulchral beings bear upon their shoulders a 
bier, covered also with black. Seeing them enter an 
adjoining building we follow, and are surprised to find 
ourselves being locked in with the men, who lay down 
their burden. Each man unmasks, and, divesting him- 
self of his robe, answers to the roll-call. Observing a 
man lifting the black cover from the bier we step for- 
ward, and see that it contains a mattress and pillow 
and bears the impression of a body. Realizing the 
danger of coming into such close contact with what 
we learn has conveyed a patient to the hospital, we fly 
from the building. 

The Church of " St. Croce" reminds one of West- 
minster Abbey, inasmuch as it contains the tombs of 



FLORENCE. 55 

many illustrious men. It proudly claims the remains 
of Michael Angelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, Alfieri, and 
a sculptured tribute to the fame of Dante, whose body 
reposes elsewhere. The tomb of Michael Angelo is 
worthy of the perhaps unequalled brain and hand 
which it encloses ; colossal marble statues bend weeping 
over it, representing Painting, Sculpture, and Archi- 
tecture, of which three arts he was the marvellous ex- 
ponent. Over these is a bas-relief of the great dead. 
Dead, truly, in bodily presence, but if " reputation is 
the immortal part of ourselves,'^ he is alive to-day, and 
will be evermore, in the thoughts and minds of all 
those who find in chiselled forms of power and grace, 
in glowing color, and in those grand conceptions of 
beauty which we call architecture, delight for the eye. 
JN'ay, more, for whatever, through refined sensibilities, 
brings pleasure to the outward sense ministers to the 
soul. 

The exterior of this church is remarkably beautiful, 
and it is the only one in Florence, excepting the Cathe- 
dral, whose front is complete. The interior of many 
of the churches of the Italian cities are marvels of 
beauty, but some of them present rather dilapidated 
exteriors. 

One of the w^onders of the city consists in a chapel, 
as it is called, although it contains no altar, or arrange- 
ment for religious service. It is built in the rear of 



56 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the Cliurch San Lorenzo^ and is connected with it. 
The frescoes on its dome are as fine as any we have 
seen. In shape, octagon ; the w^alls of the chapel are 
composed of the rarest marbles, in which are inserted 
the most precious stones,— -lapis-lazuli, agate, jasper, 
emeralds, pearls, and corals. Some are of very large 
size, with the arms of the Medici family and Tus- 
can towns in mosaic. The floor of this wonderful 
room is very ordinary, but the lofty dome and the 
walls reflect a novel beauty not to be equalled, we 
imagine, for the cost of this one small chapel is es- 
timated at twenty-two millions of lire, or nine hundred 
thousand pounds. It is the mausoleum of many of 
the Medici family, and contains the sarcophagi of dukes 
and kings. Its frescoes represent several of the prin- 
cipal episodes in our Saviour's life, and the marble 
mosaics are made to form most beautiful designs. 

The w^ealth of many of these churches is almost 
incalculable, and it makes one's heart sink to see it 
thus invested, wdiile the masses of this Roman Cath- 
olic land are so degraded and suffering. 

The two world-famed galleries of the Uflizi and 
Pitti are burdened with art-treasures of sculpture and 
painting. Repeated visits are necessary to see and 
" inw^ardly digest'^ their contents. 

An octagon hall called the '^ Tribune," in the Uflizi, 
contains several of the finest sj)ecimens of ancient 



FLORENCE. 57 

sculpture in the world. The Yenus de Medici, found 
in the sixteenth century in Hadrian's villa, the Young 
Apollo, the '^ Grinder,'^ the " Wrestlers,' ' and a satyr, 
or '^ Dancing Faun." 

We visit the house in which Michael Angelo lived. 
It is preserved intact by his worshipping countrymen. 
Although appearing plain to us, it was probably con- 
sidered fine in his day. We wander through the salon, 
the dining-room, and library, penetrating with keen 
pleasure to the little sanctum, only large enough to 
hold his desk and the wooden seat before it. We look 
upon his manuscripts and autograph ; handle his little 
slippers, — almost incredibly small for a man's use, — 
his brushes and cane, and see many of his rough 
sketches and clay models, delighted to come in such 
close contact with the life of one of the most gifted 
men of olden time. The floors are all tiled, the wood- 
work dark and rich, and the doors very narrow, all 
bearing the stamp of ancient style and customs. 

Dante's house is very high and narrow, and in a 
narrow street. An inscription on the house declares it 
to have been the home of the " divine poet." 

How strange that two of the most gifted men, rep- 
resenting the genius of Italy, — Petrarch and Michael 
Angelo, — should have lived lives of celibacy ! We 
who believe that domestic happiness — the highest form 
of all — is a grand inspirer of all that is good and great; 

4 



58 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

that a liappy love is wonderfully developing to the 
whole nature of its subject; that it enkiudles every 
laudable ambition ; heightens every noble desire ; is 
suggestive to genius; awaking talent often in the 
slumbering mind ; elevating and ennobling every sen- 
timent of the heart ; creating beauty even in the barren 
soul, cannot but think that every life would be en- 
riched and made more fruitful of grand results were 
it crowned with wedded joy and family ties. As we 
wander through the suite of Michael Angelo's bachelor 
apartments we think with regret that they have never 
resounded with the tuneful voices of children, or to 
the musical accompaniment of a wife's tender tones. 
With such mellowing influences permeating his life 
might it not have been richer even, or, at least, more 
serenely happy ? 

We enjoy exceedingly a drive on the Cascine, the 
fashionable park of the city, bordered on one side by 
a luxuriant flowering hedge which grows to a great 
height; the Arno, here unfettered, gliding by, and 
gleaming through the rich green foliage. The park is 
beautifully diversified by little copses of woodland ; 
romantic and sheltered foot-paths ; meadows of living 
green, of such shades as nature alone can produce; 
gigantic trees vine- clad to their tips ; sequestered paths 
where only coquettish sunbeams can peep through the 
vine-trellised branches; the graceful river; the bold 



FLORENCE. 59 

line of Apennines, on which the deep rich shadows love 
to linger, relieved by bright gleams of sunlight, make 
this drive a continued delight. 

We can always associate with this sweet spot a 
pleasure never before enjoyed. It is later, when " twi- 
light gray is with her sober livery all things'' clothing; 
a delicious hour; flowers and verdure are exhaling 
their richest odors; a dewy sweetness fills the air; 
deep shadows born in the valley, gathering gloom, are 
creeping up the hill-sides to be soon lost in the embrace 
of the clouds that crown the summits. Our very souls 
are silently absorbing the beauty and charm, when the 
softest trillings, swelling to airy flights and fuller 
melody, reach our ears and touch our hearts. Although 
strangers to these sweet warblings, we exclaim, ^^ 'Tis the 
nightingale unburdening his rich throat of its flood of 
wonderful song." 

We remember during a drive in this same park some 
years since to have met Victor Emmanuel on the broad, 
smooth road. Youth, beauty, and fashion glittered in 
open carriages, on horseback, and on the promenades ; 
but the king was passing, and we Avere eager attention. 
What a face ! Of figure quite imposing and military 
in its bearing ; but his features, his expression ! Had 
angels ever moulded such? No; vice had worked the 
materials into their present form. His face was of a 
purplish hue; his eyes were bleared, and being the out- 



00 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

look of a soul given up to voluptuous indulgence, were 
such as a pure woman would shrink from encountering. 
His face was full of brute force, instinct with animal 
propensities, and as a woman's intuition is "neither 
wayward nor blind," we were not surprised to find that 
the story of a life of sinful license confirmed the 
record indelibly stamped upon his features. 



CHAPTER IV. 
ROME. 

With what eager desire does the traveller turn his 
eyes toward Rome, the "Eternal City;'' for what a 
blending of interest is there, of the historian, the eccle- 
siastic, and the artistic ! There is so much of majesty 
and dignity in its history, that when we trace its epochs 
down the long line of centuries through the enduring 
mementos of its brilliant achievements ; its indestruc- 
tible monuments of art; the splendor of its artistic 
accumulations, and the power ecclesiastic once domi- 
nant, and still active and world-wide in its influence ; 
with its sacred association with the apostles of our own 
Protestant faith, we move amid its modern scenes filled 
with a solemn reverence. What could be more august 
in its crippled strength than the ruins of the Coliseum? 
Built by Vespasian, it still attests its pristine solidity, 
and although much of its material has contributed to 
the building of palaces, yet it presents a grand, formida- 
ble appearance to an admiring w^orld. Indeed, it 
teaches one to appreciate a colossal ruin shorn of many 

61 



62 • WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ornamentations, dismantled and hoaiy, much more 
than many a grand structure which has retained its 
original perfection. Even as we are often more at- 
tracted towards the gray head and drooping form, 
which has assumed the quieter grace of age, winning 
admiring respect through its very venerableness, than 
towards the athletic figure, instinct with youthful 
vigor. 

We stand in the unvaulted arena of the Coliseum 
imaging with horror the frightful scenes once enticted 
here j for we read that during the inaugurative festivi- 
ties, which continued through many days, ten thousand 
lives were sacrificed to the brutal tastes of a populace 
who thirsted for blood and gloated upon its flow as do 
the wild beasts of the forest. According to custom, 
after the gladiator had felled his antagonist, with foot 
upon his prostrate victim, he would look aloft to the 
tiers upon which sat the ladies — wild with enthusiasm 
" — to learn the fate of the vanquished. Should their 
dormant sympathies, by chance, be aroused and they 
willed that the life of the unfortunate wretch be spared, 
they elevated their thumbs; but if they would further 
pander to a vitiated appetite for the horrible, craving a 
sight of writhing physical torments and a freer flow of 
human blood, a turning down of the thumb intimated 
their desire. We would fain believe that our sex were 
not represented at these scenes of wilful carnage, but 



ROME. 63 

history forbids the indulgence of the hope. Nor can 
we doubt that the feminine element was the most 
rapacious and eager, as we believe that a woman when 
she unsexes herself goes to the extreme of possibility. 

What acclamations rent the air as the spectators, 
maddened by brutal passion, watched the successful 
thrust of the fatal spear into the infuriated beast or, 
worse still, into the throbbing heart of the human 
martyr! Did not those cries pierce the Divine ear? 
and was it not through Divine justice that this imperial 
city, the capital of Christendom, the arbiter of mon- 
archies, and even the conqueror of the world, became 
one of the least of its powers ? Its national glory and 
prestige departed ; its splendor paled by time ; its 
grandeur faded out ; its papal tyranny, which once set 
its heel upon crowned heads, now dethroned, humili- 
ated ; its once unrestricted sway limited to an ecclesias- 
tical rule, and that greatly enfeebled. So does time 
avenge the wrongs of truth and justice. 

We look down into the passages through which the 
beasts emerged for the slaughter, some five thousand 
being prepared for the inaugurating festivities, and 
think of the soil being further enriched by the blood 
of slaves and of martyrs innumerable. 

The ruins of Rome, its stately Forum; its graceful 
arches; its gigantic Coliseum; revered Pantheon and 
unique little Temple of Vesta; with the fragmentary 



64 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

splendor of the Public Baths, are all so full of thrill- 
ing interest that one loves to linger in their midst. 
Those of the Coliseum and Caracalla Baths we visit 
on a sunshiny day, when the heavens are filled with 
a radiant light, and when azure clouds hover over its 
broad surface, reflecting beauty upon every hill and 
dale of the landscape^ The masses of ruin are covered 
with a rich verdure sprinkled with wild-flowers, among 
which nature's sweet choir, feathered songsters, carol so 
gladly, so blithely, that one would think they 'sang 
amid luxurious haunts and would tell some glad tale, 
instead of warbling amid the ruins of a former gran- 
deur, whose story of great achievements, pomp, and 
glory they might now sadly tell. 

Ah, there is a great charm in this old city! A 
quaint, quiet, meditative charm, which seeks for its 
indulgence a dreamy contemplation of spots sacred in 
religious association, or memorable through historic 
events, brilliant and impressive. The very air seems 
burdened with the weighty secrets of a power so great 
as to have controlled the fate of nations, which later it 
ruled with ecclesiastical despotism. Where are the 
glittering pageants whose description gives such bril- 
liant coloring to the pages of history, and those scenes 
of festivity which, with the general abandonment to 
sensuous luxury, helped to culminate in the utter 
enervation of the people? And those royal entries 



ROME. 65 

into Eome of the returning conqueror, attended with 
such Oriental, barbaric magnificence as to make it neces- 
sary for a slave to stand beside the idolized victor and 
exclaim at intervals, " Remember thou art a man/^ lest 
amid an adoring, worshipping populace and pomp 
overwhelming he should be beguiled into the belief 
that he was in very truth a god ! 

We walk the same streets, in which life is now slug- 
gishly represented, that once were swarming with a 
warlike people, and after, with those who were rich in 
all the arts and wealth of a pampered race ; but what 
a contrast does the present age present, — the arts lost, 
wealth decayed ! "VVe cannot be merry in Rome, our 
minds are busy with conjuring such scenes as were 
once enacted in this grand theatre of the workVs action, 
and in recalling to memory those pictures we have seen 
and descriptions we have read of Babylonish-like 
luxury, ease, and sumptuousness of days whose twi- 
light has long since faded into night. But the glow 
of its national sunset seems still faintly to linger 
around the city of such dazzling memories. 

Grand, imperial Rome, with its glorious, rich past, 
must fascinate the traveller. Its ruins of centuries are 
full of intense power, and in its very decay is its 
charm. There is so much that breathes of the event- 
ful history of the centuries past that we learn to disso- 
ciate ourselves from the present, and live only in the 

4« 



66 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

scenes of those early times when the apostles trod 
these places, and when contemporary and succeeding 
heroes left upon their age the stamp of great genius 
and renown. 

St, Peter's, the grandest church in the world, is al- 
most, through the combined skill of the architect and 
artist, an inspiration. Entering the door, before which 
hangs a thickly-wadded leather curtain so encrusted 
with dirt that one shrinks from its contact, even with 
gloved hands, we suddenly find ourselves in a" vast 
space, so magnificent in dimensions, in mammoth stat- 
uary and superb mosaic, that we are fairly dazed, and 
feel, with the Queen of Sheba, *^ that the half was not 
told uSo'' It is impossible to form permanent impres- 
sions of so wonderful a fabric on first inspection, for 
St. Peter's grows upon one. We find ourselves more 
delighted with its artistic beauty and more amazed at 
its immensity and grandeur on each succeeding visit. 
Its perfection of proportions is such as prevents the 
realization, at first, of its vastness. The extreme length 
of the church, within the walls, is six hundred and 
seven feet, its width four hundred and forty-five feet, 
while its height, from the pavement to the cross, is four 
hundred and fifty-eight feet. 

When walking through its broad naves one realizes 
his own physical insignificance, for the vault above 
seems heaven-high, and the space surrounding one 



ROME. g7 

illimitable. Indeed, even large persons and objects at 
a short distance seem pigmy-like and dwarfed. 

The high altar, under a canopy, is all in bronze gilt, 
supported by four twisted columns ninety feet high. 
Here is placed the great chair, which the Pope only 
occupies on his coronation and upon certain festive 
days. Under the high altar is seen the chapel of the 
"Confession," where are preserved, 'tis said, the re- 
mains of St. Peter. One hundred and forty-two 
lamps are always kept burning here. Pius IV. is 
interred in this chapel, and his kneeling statue by 
Canova is very fine. At the bottom of the Tribune, 
in the middle nave of the church, under a canopy, is a 
bronze statue of St. Peter ; seated on a bronze chair, 
which encloses the wooden one said to have been used 
by St. Peter and his successors. This is an object of 
special devotion, all Catholics who pass it stopping to 
kiss the foot which projects from the pedestal, touching 
it with their forehead, some kneeling before it to pray. 
The toe is really much worn and the foot is burnished 
from constant friction. It is curious to watch the 
throng as they pass this shrine; the lowliest, filthiest 
beggar often preceding the most elegant, refined men 
and women; the latter touching with their dainty lips 
the toe which the polluted mouth of the dirty pauper 
has just pressed. 

Learning that there are to be unusual ceremonies at 



68 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

St. Peter's on Ascension Day, we gladly avail ourselves 
of the opportunity to witness what must prove to be a 
curious and novel scene. We arrive early at the church, 
and as no seats are provided, we wander from pictures 
to monuments, and from chapel to chapel, of those 
that open out of St, Peter's, until the services begin. 
These are all choral, the choir being composed of male 
voices, conducted by one of Italy's great musical artists. 
What voices ! A grand medium to chant the Creator's 
praise. The crowd gathers around in silence, afl ears 
intent upon the concord of sweet majestic sounds that 
are worthy of the superb cathedral in which we stand. 
The hour approaches for the singular ceremony of 
lowering the sheet, which we are to believe was the 
veritable one in which our blessed Saviour Avas en- 
folded while lying in the sepulchre during his three 
days' entombment ! The grand music strengthens in 
volume, and, we think, gains in sweetness too; the 
afternoon is waning, and long shadows creep through 
the wonderful dome down into the church, filling it 
with a subdued light in keeping with the sombre 
memories evoked by the ceremonies. All eyes wander 
to a lofty gallery, and the gaze is riveted there, as a 
sheet, bordered with wide strips of red velvet, is grad- 
ually lowered, until its full dimensions are displayed. 
The devout, or we should say the superstitious, fall 
upon their knees, cross themselves, and apparently 



ROME. (59 

pray fervently. To our eyes the sheet seems marvel- 
lously preserved, and very white and fresh to have 
attained the age claimed for it. And in the kneeling 
devotees who surround us the credulity of the Romish 
faith is abundantly proved. 

" St. John Lateran'^ is probably the second church 
to St. Peter's in splendor. It is rich in art and in 
marbles; indeed, the marbles which form the finest 
churches are many of them very rare, and almost as 
beautiful as gems we often think, as we trace the 
veined lines and note the varied colors which form 
pictures in themselves. 

Under a portico near this church is the "Santa 
Scala,'' a marble staircase of twenty-eight steps, which, 
it is alleged, belonged to the house of Pontius Pilate, 
and to be those on wdiich our Saviour descended from 
the judgment- hall. No one is allowed to mount these 
except on their hands and knees, saying an ave or a 
paternoster at each step, and descending by another 
flight of steps at the side. So great are the crowxls of 
all ranks and conditions who attempt to ascend the 
sacred steps in the prescribed awkward manner, that 
to insure their preservation they have been enclosed in 
wood. We have reason to realize the veneration in 
which these stairs are held. A gentleman of our party 
beino; iojnorant of the conditions of their ascension 
starts to mount them by foot, when he is seized by 



70 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

several men, who handle him somewhat roughly before 
being convinced that his politeness alone would have 
insured his compliance with their rules; or, at least, 
an avoidance of all disrespect to their religious prej- 
udices. 

The Church of St. Clement we find is always visited, 
as it offers the singular attraction of two churches, one 
above another and a third structure beneath them. 
The upper church is ancient, dating back to the ninth 
century ; beneath this is a lower and more ancient one, 
discovered in 1857, in which we see curious frescoes 
and some marble pillars. Beneath these are the re- 
mains of what is supposed to be the house of the 
saint whose name the church bears. The Pantheon is 
another prominent monument of ancient times. Built 
by Agrippa, it has been despoiled of many of its ori- 
ginal ornaments, yet still presents a noble appearance. 
The portico is embellished with sixteen Corinthian 
columns. The interior, a perfect circle, is lighted by a 
central opening in the vault above. Originally a pagan 
temple, it was converted by Pope Boniface IV. into 
a Christian church in the year 608. It is a fitting 
sepulchre for Paphael, who is buried here. 

In visiting the Church of the Capuchins, we found 
a monastery connected with it, which is supported by 
charity. The monks are extremely poor and dirty, and 
are said to wear their clothing, wdiich consists of a 



ROME. 71 

brown gown, hood, and wooden sandals, without change 
until they are worn out. The most peculiar feature of 
the establishment is the sepulchre beneath the church. 
A startling sight greets us as we enter the close, musty 
aisles. There is a long, narrow passage lined on one 
side by small recesses, in each of which stand the skele- 
tons of the most distinguished of the deceased monks 
in their customary habiliments, with crucifixes tightly 
clenched in their fleshless fingers. The variety of ex- 
pressions upon the faces of these gaping skeletons is a 
curious study ; some seem to be grinning at their fate, 
while others, with dolorous and sometimes frightful 
countenances, to be bewailing theirs, and as if they 
would warn the spectators to avoid the same. The 
ceiling of this singular sepulchre is ornamented — if we 
may use the term — by the bones of the numerous dead, 
most fantastically arranged with marvellous ingenuity 
in odd designs. At the sides are heaps of the heavier 
bones of the human body, showing that many hun- 
dreds, if not thousands, of monks have contributed 
towards the collection. We learn from the attending 
guide, who is himself a monk of the order, that when 
a member of the fraternity dies he is buried in the 
ground of these recesses, and after three years is ex- 
humed, and if he had been unusually distinguished for 
saintly qualities, is dressed in the robe which was laid 
aside at his death, and is assigned a niche; or he is dis- 



72 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

sected, his bones aiding in the general ornamentation. 
Pointing to a grave at our feet, the cicerone informs us 
that the last candidate for these sepulchral honors was 
buried there about a fortnight before. Overcome by 
emotions of awe, horror, and disgust, we turn and 
hastily flee from the place apparently haunted by the 
spirits of the deceased friars. 

The grand steps on the Piazza di Spagna, leading to 
the Trinita de' Monti, is the spot chosen by those who 
would be engaged by artists and sculptors as models. 
Here they are to be seen at all hours in characteris- 
tically indolent attitudes, lounging gracefully on the 
steps. The little cherubs, not with the proverbially 
sunny hair and blue eyes, but those of raven blackness, 
their eyes gleaming with most mischievous sparkling 
light. The peasantry of the country form, in many 
instances, its most picturesque feature. They are 
dressed coarsely, and yet so fancifully with their 
scarlet bodice, white neckerchief, graceful coiffure, and 
sandalled shoes, that the effect is extremely pretty and 
unique. The dancing black eyes and rich heavy hair 
of the little urchins often tempts us to stop and admire 
these gifts, of which nature is here so prodigal, and 
which many of nobler blood might envy them. 

The Vatican, the palace-home of the Pope, contains 
a vast number of salons and galleries in which are col- 
lected some of the richest gems of art. Its museum 



ROME. 73 

is considered the finest in the world, while its library 
contains twenty-three thousand manuscripts and thirty 
thousand printed volumes. Years might be consumed 
in the investigation and study of the vast collection of 
art-treasures and ancient relics of these galleries, for 
there are several objects of such unfailing interest that 
one would never exhaust their suggestive meaning. 
The most prominent of these are two of the most cele- 
brated pictures in the world, " The Transfiguration'' by 
Eaphael, and the "Communion of St. Jerome" by 
Domenichino, standing near each other. What a mar- 
vellous conception of the infinite must Eaphael have 
had to give such beauty to the Saviour's visage and 
such inspiration to His whole figure ! We find some 
new beauty blossoming out under our warm, rapt gaze 
each moment. Celestial glory, through the rifted 
clouds, is irradiating the uplifted, Divine countenance 
of the Saviour as He stands on the mount surrounded 
by the three prostrate apostles. What a blending of 
adoring love, sweetness, and majesty as He raises His 
eyes towards the beloved Father, whose presence is 
manifested by an ineffable light in the cloud, as He says, 
"This is my beloved Son; hear ye Him!" And then 
the speechless awe of the crowd below ! among whom 
is the powerful representation of the demoniac boy 
whose restoration had baffled the skill of the disciples, 
but which was afterwards effected by the Saviour. 



74 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Certainly the spiritual nature of the artist must have 
been qnickened, and his pencil touched with inspiration 
as this wondrous revelation of divine grace^ g^ory, and 
power was made through his magic touch. We cannot 
associate any such success with Murillo or Rubens, as 
tlieir colors are marked by a sensuous warmth, and their 
outlines and figures are so invariably suggestive of 
voluptuousness, — of the earth, earthy. But Raphael's ' 
conceptions, coloring, and touches are refined, subdued, 
and chastened by a purer thought and taste. ^ What 
a fitting crown for his head as he laid in state was this 
expiring effort of his genius! for it was previous to the 
completion of the painting of the "Transfiguration" 
that he sickened and died, having reached the zenith 
of his fame. Let us hope that he was admitted to an 
abundant entrance into the heavenly kingdom whose 
celestial light and glory he had— although with the in- 
evitable imperfection of human effort, yet with an un- 
equalled skill — striven to portray on the Divine features. 

The ^^ Communion of St. Jerome," by Domenichino, 
is of lowlier aspiration, as it is human features that are 
there depicted. And yet what absorption and earnest- 
ness in spiritual emotion are delineated in the expres- 
sion of the dying saint, as in a condition of frightful 
emaciation his frame is supported in a kneeling posture 
while he partakes of the last sacraments ! 

The Yilla Borghese and its park, although not 



ROME. 75 

healthily situated, are very inviting from their beauty 
and the fine artistic collection within the palace. Its 
clief-fVmuvre is the full-length reclining statue of the 
fair and frail Pauline, sister of Napoleon Bonaparte, 
and the faithless wife of the Due de Borghese, whose 
palatial estate this once was. The symmetry of her 
form, and indeed every feature of this dissolute 
woman, was pronounced absolutely faultless, with the 
exception of her ears, which, we are told, " were two 
flat, thin pieces of cartilage," deformingly ngly. An 
envious beauty remarked, in Pauline's presence, that 
were her ears similarly deformed she would cut them 
off; the mortified subject of the insult burst into tears 
and fled from the room. She afterwards avenged her- 
self by calling her fair enemy, who was very tall, " a 
May-pole.'' 

The statue, by Canova, was modelled from life, a fact 
which so shocked and displeased the Due that he ban- 
ished it to a more secluded palace in Genoa, where it re- 
mained until after his death, when it was replaced here 
in its original position. A lady inquired of Pauline how 
she could have submitted to so trying an ordeal. " Oh," 
exclaimed the shameless beauty, " there was a fire in 
the room;" utterly ignoring the indelicacy of the ex- 
perience but presuming a prosaic meaning to the lady's 
question. The statue represents the original as half 
reclining; one hand holds the apple of Paris, from 



76 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

which circumstance the statue derives its name of 
" Venus Yictrix." So exquisite is the beauty and 
grace of feature and form, that had it wings we should 
consider it a sublime conception of angelic beauty. 

Judging from Pauline's antecedents, it is not sur- 
prising that she wearied of even the great natural 
beauty of this famed estate and of the wealth of its 
artistic collection, but separating from her husband she 
repaired to her brother's court, where, in a dissolute 
throng, she "out-Heroded Herod.'' 

Several years since when in Rome we stumbled into 
a studio where we were fairly entangled, for the ex- 
ceeding beauty of a sculptured gem threatened to keep 
us prisoners by its side. 

On a marble couch lay two cherub boys, the head of 
each crowned with flowing curls; they had been in- 
dulging in a joyous frolic; pillows were awry and sheets 
displaced; the short dress revealing the beauty of 
chubby infant limbs. Sleep had stolen upon them 
with such sudden, irresistible power, that one hand had 
been arrested in its attempt to grasp a stray curl of the 
little brother, and the smile of mischief had not died 
out from the half-parted lips. All was in sweet dis- 
array, presenting such a picture as, we thought, would 
awaken the maternal instinct even in a maiden^s hi^east. 

Involuntarily paying the sweetest tribute that genius 
can receive, — tears, — we turned and met the pleased 



ROME. 77 

expression of the artist, who had approached us. 
" Who/^ we inquired in covetous tones, *^ is to possess 
this exquisite gem f^ 

" This, the sixth copy, has been ordered by a bachelor 
in Chicago," was the answer. 

*^And why," exclaimed we, "should he reject the 
reality and seek the semblance of a joy ?" 

"Perhaps this may convert him," was the merry 
response of the bachelor artist. 

Upon further conversation we found that he whose 
work we were so enthusiastically admiring was none 
other than the late Mr. Rhinehart, the gifted Balti- 
morean, who, although dying young, lived long enough 
to fairly earn the laurel wreath of fame. 

While in Eome during the pontificate of Pius 
IX., we found that his receptions were one of the 
social features, and as most strangers sought the oppor- 
tunity of an introduction to him we decided to follow 
suit. On learning, however, that one must submit to 
the rule of bowing the knee to "His Holiness," we 
declined to go. It seemed to us sacrilegious to assume 
a worshipful attitude towards one who demanded it as 
a spiritual right, and whose claims to infallibility were 
shocking the Protestant world. There surely is but 
One " to w^hom all knees shall bow," and His " king- 
dom is not of this world." 

When expressing our sentiments in the parlor of our 



78 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Jiotel, a young Englishman heartily endorsed them, and, 
while declaring his intention of joining the party at 
that evening's reception, said he was equally determined 
to parry the obligation and escape with a low bow. 

" Well/' said w^e, " we will await the result of your 
experience and act accordingly.'^ He went to the 
Vatican that evening with many others, and the next 
morning was eagerly questioned by us as to the de- 
nouement. 

With some chagrin he related his experience, Ad- 
vancing in his turn to be presented to the Pope, he 
made a profound bow, when ^' His Holiness," detecting 
his attempt to evade the customary ceremonial, laid his 
hands on the two shoulders of the young reprobate — as 
he probably considered him— and pressed him down on 
his knees. 

We did not go ! 

While standing on the steps of St. Peter's one day, 
the Pope's carriage issued from the grand portal of the 
Vatican grounds and slowly passed by us, so closely 
that we could have shaken hands with its occupant. 
We looked with interest upon the face, which, although 
'twas furrowed by age, and his eye was dimmed by 
time and the sorrows it had brought him, yet was 
beautiful to look upon, beaming as it was with benev- 
olence, a very " love-letter to all mankind." He 
stretched forth his hands as if in benediction, and we 



ROME. 79 

bowed in grateful acknowledgment of an old man's 
blessing. 

He looked much more deserving of his title, Inno- 
cent, than were some of his predecessors who incon- 
gruously bore that name. 

We turn with sadness from this old city, and feeling 
unwilling to believe that we have threaded its narrow 
streets ; driven over the famed Appian Way ; wandered 
through its endless galleries ; lingered in its vast 
churches; stimulated our aesthetic tastes and indulged 
contemplative moods, through its classic resources, for 
the last time, we bethink us of the fabled fountain of 
Trevi, — the most remarkable of the Roman fountains, 
—whose waters are said to possess the magic power, if 
drank, of insuring one's return to Rome. Accordingly 
the last evening of our stay we drink at its brink, 
throwing in a petty coin, — one of the conditions, — and 
so, merely with an cm revoir, turn from the delights 
of Rome to seek " fresh woods and pastures new." 



CHAPTEE V. 

NAPLES—POMPEII— VESUVIUS— P^STUM. 

NAPLES, 

Naples is most beautifully situated upon" the Bay 
of Naples, and forms a semicircle on its shores. But, 
however attractive it may be to the eye, the stranger is 
impatient to digest its beauties and flee to some North- 
ern Zoar; for, having a very defective system of drain- 
age, its air is often burdened with impurity, and its 
scents are so unsavory as to be at times unbearable. 

To obtain a fine view of the city and its delightful 
environs we ride to the Church of San Martino, one of 
the most beautiful in Italy. It is built upon an emi- 
nence of one thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
As we ride higher and higher the view widens, and 
when we reach the church a beautiful panorama lies 
before us. Below, and stretching out on every side, is 
Naples, with its labyrinth of narrow streets, with their 
passing throng. The hum of voices and the din of 
city life have become so blended and modulated before 
the waves of the air have rolled them to our ear that 
80 



NAPLES. 31 

they greet us with really mellifluous sound ; fields, 
whose surface is burdened with grain, are wooing the 
sun^s rays to unfold their wealth; while vines are 
wreathing every stalwart tree, fairly concealing sap- 
lings with their riotous growth. Beyond, the rippling 
waters of the majestic bay gleam in the sunlight, the 
islands of Capri and Ischia rising boldly from their 
surface; while Vesuvius, apparently peaceful, but with 
torrents of wrath foamino; in her bosom, rises dano;er- 
ously near. Such views as these, we believe, nourish 
the soul, allaying its fretful, restless passions ; giving 
its aspirations larger breadth and more elevated tone ; 
impressing it with a profounder appreciation of the 
Infinite, through the revelation of His power, as mani- 
fested in these works of His hands. It was a rare 
treat and well worthy of the two hours' ride. 

The church is a perfect gem in marble and rich 
decoration. There is much wooden mosaic curiously 
wrought by the monks, who occupy an adjoining mon- 
astery. One of the order, physically a noble specimen 
of manhood, — probably chosen on that account, — is 
kneeling upon the steps of the altar, mumbling his 
prayers and manipulating his beads, while an artist 
includes his figure in a sketch of the interior of the 
church. 

Visiting another church one day we are surprised, 
nay, more, astounded, on approaching the altar, to 



82 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

see the several priests who are kneeling around it, and 
are apparently absorbed in their devotions, suddenly rise 
and confront us with faces expressive of consternation. 
That we are the cause of their perturbation is evident ; 
but why? For many years we have been mingling 
in the society of their sex without, alas! ever having 
created a sensation. Can it be possible that our mature 
life is to be crowned with a social success denied our 
youth? Doubting, and much mystified, we turn in- 
quiringly to our intelligent guide. " I don^t understand 
it myself,^' he says ; " but I will inquire.'^ 

Advancing towards the priests, he speaks a few 
words, when several of them, with earnest gesticulation 
and significant nods towards us, relieve their minds, 
but remain standing, as if awaiting our movements. 

The guide returns and says that they assure him it 
is impossible to continue their devotions while in the 
presence of a woman, as it is the anniversary of the 
beheading of John the Baptist, whose head, Ave remem- 
ber, was the price of a woman's smile and favor. 

Indignantly we turn away, regretting that the guide 
is too good a Catholic to repeat to them our remon- 
strance, based upon the fact that, as they are addressing 
their prayers to one of our sex, — the Virgin Mary, — we 
see no objection to the visible presence of another; and 
that had they the chivalric regard for us entertained 
by the noble of their own sex, they would find inspira- 



NAPLES. 83 

tion while indulging the finest feelings of their spiritual 
natures, in the living presence of a good woman. 

The streets of the old portions of these Italian cities 
are so narrow that when a vehicle is passing through 
them foot-passengers must seek refuge in a doorway or 
hug the wall closely, and even then their toes may 
project a little too far and be trampled upon. One 
peculiarity of Neapolitan life is that the lower class of 
people live out-doors all day, seeming only to enter 
their houses at night. Every morning the dwellings 
are turned inside out, as it were, the people performing 
many of their domestic duties in the streets, seeking 
the sunshine in winter and early spring for the warmth 
it gives. This custom gives the streets a constantly 
crowded appearance, men, women, and children swarm- 
ing in every direction, their houses but burrowing- 
holes, dark, filthy, and crowded. The open air of the 
street, although impure, is preferable, at least, to that 
of their dens, and it must be to this fact that they owe 
their health and their life even. And here let us in- 
terpolate that if any are endowed, or afflicted, perhaps 
we might say, w^ith an unusual degree of refinement 
of feeling, particularly if they are of morbidly del- 
icate sensibilities, we advise them to avoid Naples in 
their travels. Such repulsive phases of domestic life 
could scarcely be thrust more openly upon the stranger's 
notice than here. Domestic life in its finer types pre- 



S4: WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

sents naught but charm, but in its lower it is a con- 
glomeration of coarseness and vulgarity. Filth and 
squalor being prominent phases of Neapolitan life, 
they could hardly be ignored in its portrayal. 

Donkeys are universally used in this country, as they 
are strong, hardy, capable of great endurance, and eat 
little. They are exceedingly small, some of them not 
much larger than a large dog, and one feels inclined 
to fondle them as they would a canine favorite. We 
have never seen but one instance of the obstinacy^which 
is thought to be characteristic of the species ; it was 
while at Genoa, when walking through one of the nar- 
row streets we saw some men striving first to induce 
and then to force a donkey to turn around and be 
attached to a cart. The little fellow held his own well ; 
he was pushed, pulled, beaten, kicked, and sworn at, 
to no purpose. At length in despair, and probably in 
remembrance of some past experience, the men left the 
wagon and the mule standing muIisJUy beside it, and 
sat down awaiting a change in his mood. We have 
repeatedly seen little donkeys with immense quantities 
of wood strapped on and around them, or with masses 
of divers vegetables, which so completely covered them 
that one would suppose a small forest or market-garden 
had become animate and was marching forth to supply 
the needs of the cold and hungry; until impressed by 
curious doubts, a closer inspection would be made, and 



NAPLES. 85 

with some difficulty a little head would be found pro- 
truding at one end and the swaying stump of a tail at 
the other. 

While in Naples we visit the Museum, and although 
it contains masterpieces of sculpture, we are most in- 
terested in the apartment devoted to Pompeian relics. 
There are blackened, charred loaves of bread and 
cake as found in the ovens, perfect, and resembling 
the modern in form ; nuts, figs, coffee, and olives, all 
retaining their shape, but black as ink ; cameo sets, 
rings, bracelets, articles of clothing and of housekeep- 
ing, among others a pan still full of a kind of polenta 
for a repast, and a purse found in the grasp of an ex- 
humed skeleton. 

" Thou hast made of a city an heap ; of a defenced 
city a ruin ; a palace of strangers to be no city ; it shall 
never be built/' — Isaiah xxv. 2. 

We visit Pompeii, its ruins being one of the most 
interesting sights in Europe. Many walls of houses 
remain, some of them covered with frescoes of well- 
preserved colors ; many fountains and statues still 
stand, and recesses covered with the most elaborate 
mosaics. The streets are in regular order, their curb- 
stones and pavements perfect, the marks of the car- 
riage-wheels being in deeply-worn ruts. The character 
of the stores is easily defined, not only by the signs, 
some of which are yet traceable, but by their relics, as 



8g WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ovens in the bakers' shops, wheels to grind the grain, 
immense jars in the oil and liquor stores, and in the 
barber's shop the stone seat for the customers and the 
niches for the pomades. In the theatre are the seats 
of stone, the Forum also being easily identified by its 
grand columns, standing as a monument of the skill 
and opulence of former days. 

But the most thrilling sight in this excavated city is 
in a certain little room, where in glass cases are pre- 
served the different members of one family, aH en- 
crusted in a kind of lava, and in positions strikingly 
natural, as death suddenly overtook them. Two chil- 
dren lie together, adhering in one portion of their 
bodies, the feet of .one towards the head of the other. 
The father is partially turned, as if striving to free 
himself from the inexorable grasp of the destroyer, 
while the mother is stretched upon her back, with her 
head on one side and one limb raised. The lavarous 
crust upon the bodies leaves their forms defined, but in 
a measure enlarges their proportions. 

There is a skeleton standing in the corner grinning 
apparently at the spectators, showing a set of teeth 
of faultless color and shape. The guide rather grimly 
remarks that they must have done good execution with 
the macaroni. 

We are shown the impression, clearly defined, on the 
wall of a subterranean passage, of the faces and figures 



NAPLES. 87 

of severiil persons, who were discovered pressed against 
it; one of them is chitching a handful of jewels, which 
she had caught up and sought to fly with on the first 
note of warning. But, alas ! they were doomed to find 
in this subterranean refuge their death and sepulchre. 

The impression made upon one is very peculiar in 
wandering through streets where beauty and fashion 
once displayed their charms; through the once busy 
marts of trade, where the relics of art still remain ; in 
the salons of dancing and revelry, which are still gor- 
geous in their richly-colored frescoes, the echoes of 
youthful gayety and mirth seeming still to linger in 
the air; through the majestic halls of the Forum, 
where Philosophy and Logic held the pagan ear; and 
in the Theatre, in whose seats we could fancy the assem- 
blage of Pompeian beauty and strength, all alike 
delighted with the crude representation of dramatic 
art. 

We cannot realize that this is the partial resurrection 
of a city that for eighteen hundred years has been 
dead and buried, but it seems more like a recently de- 
serted, village, and as if by the renovating effects of 
mechanical skill it could soon be rendered habitable 
and echo again with the sounds of busy life. 

Herculaneum is far less interesting than Pompeii. 
We are led down a flight of steps and are introduced 
into a series of intricate, dark, subterranean passages, 



83 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

which are lined by walls of intensely hard lava. The 
Theatre, with many of its seats and some other features, 
are to be seen, and this is all. It reminds us of the 
Catacombs of Kome. Herculaneum was buried by 
masses of lava, which, mixed with rain, formed a thick 
conglomeration very difficult to penetrate ; but Pompeii 
was destroyed by a storm of dry ashes and debris 
which is easily removed, even with its accumulation of 
centuries, revealing the treasures of Pompeian wealth 
and art. 

We have often read, heard, and dreamed of Italian 
skies as being unrivalled for beauty and glory, but 
never have we seen any to equal many of ours until 
the day we travel by rail from Naples to Rome. The 
landscape is smiling and green ; the olive-trees clothed 
with vines ; the green verdure of the fields picturesquely 
relieved by the gay, bright costumes of the peasantry 
as they turn the soil with their rake and hoe; the 
graceful slopes and the bold promontories of the Apen- 
nines, with their deep, lingering shadows ; and, above 
all, the most heavenly skies that one could imagine. 
Light, fleecy clouds, with banks of deep gold and 
crimson, relieved by the more sombre hues, until the 
broad expanse above us seems a sea of glory. 



VESUVIUS. 89 



VESUVIUS. 



A most adventurous undertaking is that of the as- 
cent of Mount Vesuvius. Taking a carriage at Naples 
we ride to the Hermitage, which is situated some 
distance up the mountain-side. As Ave wind up the 
gentle slope we are surrounded by a troop of infantry, 
which, although they have not been drilled in military 
tactics, are expert at the "double-quick'' movement 
and in " presenting" hands if not " arms." A crowd 
of tliese youthful beggars besieges us until we arrive 
at the Hermitage, where we enjoy the lunch we have 
brought with us. After it we take horses, which are 
provided for the short ride to the base of the cone. 

During an eruption the crater breathes forth a fiery 
destruction that blasts all nature within reach of its 
exhalations, vomiting lava, which pours down the 
mountain-sides cono^ealino^, and forming billow-like 
irregularities, black, unsightly, and forbidding, ren- 
dering most of the region round about sterile and un- 
inviting. And yet occasionally there appear tiny 
oases of a thin superficial coating of arable soil, where 
simple wild-flowers, as if in pity, offer their tribute 
towards redeeming the scene from utter desolatfon. 
It is said that during an eruption, or immediately 
subsequent to it, " there is such an abundance of rain, 
owing to the mass of vapors ejected into the atmos- 



90 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

pliere, that it precipitates itself along the sides of the 
cone in actual torrents, charged with a fine, impalpable, 
volcanic dust, which, carrying with them a fine ashes, 
acquires a consistence to justify the name given to 
them of ^ aqueous lavas/ ^^ 

Alighting from the horses which have brought us 
from the Hermitage to the foot of the cone, we each 
engage two guides and attempt the task. A herculean 
one it proves, although with one man alternately to 
pull and support, and another following in the rear to 
push gently but firmly. The soil to a great depth is of 
a loamy, yielding, crumbling nature, that gives way 
under the pressure of the foot, seeming to give impetus 
to a backward movement instead of allowing an ad- 
vance. An hour and a half are consumed in the weari- 
some climbing, which, singularly enough, is more ex- 
hausting during the first part than the last. Being 
novices, and not having learned the necessity of reserv- 
ing one's powers, we put forth our entire strength at 
the outset, soon succumbing to a fatigue attended by a 
painful difficulty in breathing, which threatens to inca- 
pacitate us for further effort. After resting, however, 
on the large stones which nature seems to have pro- 
vided for an occasional seat, and by paying strict heed 
to the guides' admonitory advice, we pluck up our cour- 
age, and bearing more heavily upon our wooden and 
human staffs, " taking it easy," we make slow but steady 



VESUVIUS. 91 

progress. When half-way one of tlie ladles accepts 
an earnestly proffered seat on the shoulders of two 
guides, who unfalteringly but pantingly bear their 
precious burden up the " Hill Difficulty." Had Bun- 
yan had this mount in his mind he could not have 
more vividly portrayed the difficulties and dangers to 
be encountered in its ascent. Not the gates of the 
heavenly city loom up before our view, however, but 
rather, as we near the goal, volumes of smoke im- 
pregnated with sulphurous fumes warn us of a nearer 
approach to what seems more like the mouth of the 
Inferno. Indeed, the illusion is the more complete 
when, on reaching the summit, we look down into the 
pit-like crater of brimstone and fire, into the very 
jaws of death. Shall we descend into this threatening 
abyss Avhose under-currents are in perpetual ferment? 
being an intense fire, wdiose lurid flames occasionally 
shoot their fiery tongues through forced fissures. As 
we look down into the seething basin, waves of black 
lava, here and there, suddenly redden, dissolve, and 
boil over as if from a surcharged cauldron. But the 
American spirit of dashing enterprise and reckless 
venture determines the question, and with tremulous 
excitement, clinging to our trusty guides, we descend 
into the literal fiery furnace. The heat is intense and 
feels scorching as its breath sweeps our cheeks, while 
our feet must be kept in constant motion, skipping 



92 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

from point to point, to avoid the burning sensation 
produced by a momentary lingering in any one spot. 

Indeed, we must have watchful eyes, too, as without 
other warning than a faint trembling beneath our feet 
the lavarous crust opens, and through the gaping fis- 
sure flows the boiling fluid, which, as it cools, becomes 
a hardened billow of blackened lava. 

In a distant corner is a laro-e mass of cono-ealed sul- 
phur, through whose occasional apertures issue sulphur- 
ous fumes of the deepest orange, blended with 'red, 
green, and mingled colors, beautiful to the eye, but, as 
we find on timidly approaching, are almost suffocating, 
and would be overwhelmingly so in the midst of its 
variegated cloud and vapor. We remember that the 
death of Plinv the Elder was attributable to this cause. 

We begin the descent, gathering many specimens of 
lava, with colors as numerous as those in a paint-box, 
but which change by keeping to dingy hues. Finding 
at each step our limbs embedded in the soft, yielding 
soil, we complain that the effort is even more laborious 
than that required in the ascent. The guides exclaim, 
" If you all would run down fast, letting us support 
you under your arms, you would not find difficulty.'' 
And so, withholding all personal exertion, but yielding 
ourselves entirely to the control of the strong men at 
each side, we are assisted easily and rapidly over the 
surface of the precipitous mountain slope. Indeed, so 



P^STUM. 93 

exhilarating is the experience, and so swiftly are we 
guided, that amid exceeding mirth and merry laughter, 
with occasional halts " to catch breath," we accomplish 
the descent in ten minutes. 

A visit to the Observatory is made very interesting 
by a critical inspection of the exceedingly delicate in- 
strument through which, by detecting and calculating 
the vibrations of the earth, science is enabled to predict 
the coming of an eruption. 

A PICNIC AT P^STUM. 

We almost hesitate to write the words, so incongru- 
ous seems any feasting, but that of the soul, amid some 
of the most venerable ruins in the world. Arrived at 
Salerno, we find it a fine old town, situated on the Bay 
of Salerno, half encircled by the Alban Mountains, 
which protect it from " the rough winds of Heaven'^ 
on one side, the swelling bosom of the blue sea ever 
pulsating before it. The principal street, which follows 
the shore, is very long and full of lively scenes, pre- 
senting a picture of Italian life only to be seen in its 
completeness in a town of Southern Italy. Almost 
every phase of life is represented as we drive through 
the town at eventide. Human life swarms ; and it is 
only by the repeated cracking of the postilion's whip 
that a passage can be effected. 

Groups of picturesquely-dressed peasants, their gay 



94: WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

colors giving brilliancy fco the scene ; tables surrounded 
by gesticulating men, with their bottle and convivial 
glasses before them ; women with tightly-swaddled 
babes in their arms ; beggars in every form of decrep- 
itude, and in a squalor almost inconceivable; rickety 
wagons, absolutely loaded with human beings, dashing 
through the crowds, the poor, attenuated beasts goaded 
on by the loud and dissonant cries of their drivers ; and 
young fops with swinging canes and eyes glancing con- 
stantly up to the balconies above, over which leail their 
bright-eyed friends; women of the better class, their 
heads covered by black lace veils, which are a becom- 
ing setting to the bronzed faces and black, sparkling 
eyes of the wearers, who invariably possess a fine set 
of pearly teeth ever gleaming from ripe lips, — charms 
which are foiled by the strangely-wizened faces of the 
aged in this country. What a scene! and how often 
repeated in this sunny land, where houses are always 
deserted and the streets filled with gay, merry throngs 
at this twilight hour ! 

Early in the morning we take a carriage for Psestum, 
twenty-four miles distant, driving through a country 
very sterile and uninteresting, reaching the grand ruins 
about mid-day. Not with frivolity, but with deep 
thoughtfulness, do we approach some of the most ancient 
as well as magnificent ruins of the past. They con- 
sist of three Doric temples, the mo&t imposing of which 



P^STUM. ■ 95 

is the Temple of Xeptime. The situation is admirably 
adapted to the imposing structure, for grandeur is 
heightened by isolation. Nature herself seems a wor- 
shipper at this ancient shrine; deep, ay, profound silence 
reigns, only broken by the unequalled music of nature's 
orchestra, the birds seeming to revel in the beauty 
around them, and if their sweet warblings break upon 
the solemnity it is a relief to the oppressive influences 
of the scene. 

We enter the Temple with slow and reverent step ; 
its only roof is the vault of heaven; its pillars, honey- 
combed by time, enclose us in their quiet majesty ; and 
so we stand in rapt communion with the great Past, so 
eloquently represented by this architectural conception. 
Three continuous stone steps surround the Temple, from 
these arise the six columns of the front and the four- 
teen of the sides. They are fluted and conical, their 
circumference being smaller at the top than at the base, 
and this delicate graduation is very effective and pleas- 
ing to the eye. The architectural merit is unsurpassed, 
the genius of Greece finding expression in this marvel- 
lous structure. Looking aloft from the interior of the 
Temple upon the upper blocks of stone, we witness the 
union of modern Flora with old Neptune. Closely 
entwined is he by the graceful tendrils of a sweetly 
flowering vine, which, being a spontaneous tribute of 
the goddess to the hoary old god, is the more effective. 



96 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Seating ourselves on the reverend stones within the 
Temple, we spread our meal and prepare to dine under 
circumstances more novel than ever before, not for- 
getting in the wine of the country to drink a libation 
to the old god whose temple we seem to be desecrating. 
As we look above and around us and see how nobly 
this grand monument has withstood the buffetings of 
storms ; the fury of tempests ; the " peltings of pitiless 
rains;" the fervid heat of summers; and all the com- 
bined effects of time and the elements, we resolVe that 
we, with our human souls, will strive to endure the 
shocks of fate and the sorrow which sometimes rains 
upon us I resisting all the adverse influences, which 
often undermine the foundations of character, just as 
these great, grand forms have conquered the effects of 
ages, retaining not only their pristine strength, but 
their beauty as welL We leave the sacred spot know- 
ing that never again will our eyes rest upon its won- 
ders, and feeling that somewhat of its grandeur and 
beauty are reflected upon oim* moral nature. 



CHAPTER yi. 
YENICE. 

" Thy borders are in the midst of the seas, thy huilders have 
perfected thy beauty." — Ezekiel xxvii. 4. 

Fair, lovely Venice, the queen of the Adriatic, is 
the most remarkable city we have visited, its very 
name suggesting all that is unique, poetical, and dreamy. 
How surprising to eyes which look for the first time 
upon buildings rising magic-like from the sea, instead 
of gazing upon rolling meadows and flowering gardens, 
or even streets where rumbling wheels w^ary the ear ; 
to look ever upon the rippling tide and the dropping 
and lifting of the active oar as it dips into the w^ater 
and rises vocal with sound ! Nor does the interest 
of the novel experience wane during the traveller's 
sojourn here, as some fresh form of loveliness, some 
new feature of the singular scene, constantly greets 
the eyes that are on the alert, and ministers to the 
mind that is receptive to new delights, through new 
sensations. 

Venice is built upon a cluster of seventy or eighty 

07 



98 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

islands, connected with one another by four hundred 
and fifty bridges, of which the Rialto is the grandest, 
consisting of a single arch one hundred and eighty- 
seven feet long and forty-three wide. The effect 
of this fine structure, however, is marred, if not de- 
stroyed, by its two rows of rude booths or shops, 
whose stocks are adapted only to tlie trade of the lower 
classes. 

Instead of streets there are canals, boats instead of 
carts, gondolas instead of coaches. In the rear of 
many houses tliere are passages, but too narrow for a 
carriage, no horse being in the city. The doors of the 
buildings open upon the canals, with steps leading to 
the boats. According to an ancient law, still enforced, 
all gondolas are painted black. The law was made 
necessary by the unbridled extravagance that the no- 
bility displayed in the embellishment of their water 
equipages. Each gondola has a tiny cabin in its centre, 
its cushions and all its appointments being of the same 
sombre hue, and only needing a recumbent figure to 
look, for all the world, like one of our occupied biers. 
The gondola resembles our row-boats, is somewhat 
longer, and is ornamented at one end by a shining steel 
prow. This flashing in the sunlight on a crowded 
canal, where the gondolas are floating side by side, or 
are skimming by one another with rapid motion, adds 
much to the beauty of the scene. The gondolier stands 



VENICE. 99 

on the narrow edge of the boat at one end, and witli a 
graceful bend and swaying movement of the body 
sends his little craft lightly over the water, turning the 
corner from one canal into another deftly and with 
consummate skill. Each gondolier as he makes these 
turns with his noiseless boat utters a cry of warning, 
which is made by the melodious Italian voice so wel- 
come to the ear that it forms one of the delights of our 
ride. 

There are many churches rich in mosaics, paintings, 
and statuary, but the most remarkable in Venice, and, 
indeed, one of the most so in the world, is St. Mark's, 
that conglomeration of many types of architecture, but 
chiefly perhaps Byzantine. The exterior of the church 
is very Oriental in its style, the roof being covered 
with what appear to be little mosques, making the 
tout ensemble very striking. The interior is brilliant 
with mosaic, the groundwork of the ceiling being in 
gold. The marbles which compose the columns are of 
various colors, and are wonderfully beautiful. The 
altar is inlaid with precious stones, and so profuse is 
the whole building in the display of gorgeous color 
and rich material, and so pronounced are the traces 
of its antiquity, that one may well stand in wondering 
admiration before this relic of the magnificence of the 
old-time regime. In the " Square of St. Mark," which 
is fiv^e hundred and seventy-six feet long and two hun- 



100 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

dred and sixty-nine in greatest width, and near the 
venerable church, stands the Campanile, from whose 
summit we have a fine view, and opposite is the "Torre 
delF Orologio," with a large clock, two bronze figures 
striking the hours upon the bell, 

St. Mark's Church, with all its mosque-like cupolas; 
its many arches one above another ; its famous bronze 
horses, which stand outside the portico, the ancient 
Campanile rearing its majestic height near by; the 
arcade enclosing the paved square; gay throngs 'filling 
the many cafes, and sauntering along the broad prom- 
enade, while on the smooth stones of the centre are the 
pigeons, whose variegated plumage is made brilliant by 
the rays of the noonday sun. So gentle, domestic, and 
tame have these city pets become through regular feed- 
ing that they will voluntarily perch upon the extended 
hand or upon the shoulder of a stranger and partake 
of the crumbs or corn offered them. The pigeons 
flock in such numbers that they almost cover the square, 
forming a bright picturesque feature of a mid-day scene 
in this famous spot; indeed, one of the curious sights 
of Venice is the feeding of them at two o'clock every 
day. Many years ago an old lady died leaving a 
legacy to be appropriated to their support. Some ten 
years since we witnessed the pretty scene enacted each 
day. And again during a recent visit we find the 
custom still in vogue, much to the amusement of 



VENICE. 101 

strangers, who seldom fail to be present at the accus- 
tomed hour, lightening the officiaFs task by their 
personal aid. 

The Doge's Palace stands at one side of the church, 
and is full of historical and artistic interest. On as- 
cending the imposing staircase, we are shown many 
apartments whose associations with the political history 
of Venice make them very attractive. Their walls are 
lined by large allegorical pictures by the old masters, 
portraying the glory and power of the Republic. Pro- 
ceeding to the upper story, our eyes fall upon the aper- 
ture, on one side of the door, leading into the Inquisi- 
tor's chamber, where letters of secret denunciation 
were formerly deposited. The lion's head, in whose 
mouth the letters were dropped, has disappeared. 
Here again are series of salons, whose paintings and 
carved ornamentation, particularly that which sur- 
rounds the mammoth fireplaces, testify to the former 
opulence of a government which provided for its rulers 
such palatial luxury and w^ealth of art. We are ushered 
into a room which in olden times was hung in black, 
and was the scene of the secret tribunal of the Council 
of Ten. Through a narrow passage the condemned 
was led forth to a death, to be effected with the same 
secrecy and expedition that had characterized his mock 
trial. 

We are invited to explore the recesses of the prison, 



102 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

connected with the Palace by the " Bridge of Sighs/' 
whose commemorative verses by Byron, 

'' I stood in Venice, on the bridge of sighs," 

are as familiar as household words. It is even fright- 
ful to inspect these dungeons, which, we are happy to 
learn, have not been occupied since the seventeenth 
century. Small, dark, dank cells, with only an inclined 
board to supply, in cruel mockery, the place of a bed. 
The cell of the condemned often proved, tradition 
tells us, the scene of the death of the criminal, for, 
from its immediate juxtaposition to the waters below, 
the dampness, almost palpable, engendered disease 
which in mercy deprived the executioner of bis victim. 
Outside of this cell, in one of the thickly-walled pas- 
sages, is the dread spot where the condemned, did he 
chance to survive his fearful incarceration, was hung ; 
and when dead, was easily slipped down an inclined 
plane into the dark, silent waters below. So all traces 
of these judicial murders were buried secretly from the 
sight of the outside world. No wonder that the estab- 
lishment of this Satanic Council of Ten was one of the 
causes of the downfall of the aristocratic power of the 
imposing Republic of Venice. Indeed, what govern- 
ment can be permanent, however brilliant its success, 
reaching even the zenith of a mid-day splendor, whose 
building is not of a righteous foundation and its laws 



VENICE. 103 

based upon justice and equity? And so, witli other 
adverse circumstances, this demoniac power subtilely 
undermined a prosperous nationality ; a glory which 
knew few peers sinking beneath the waves of time. 

A row on the Grand Canal presents to our view a 
series of palaces with which there are connected many 
pleasant reminiscences. The Palace Morodin falling 
into the possession of the Moro family is said to have 
given one Doge to the Republic. He is thought by 
some to have been the hapless lover of Desdemona. 
The Palace Mocenigo is where Byron, in the society of 
the beautiful Countess G., wrote the first cantos of 
'' Don Juan'^ and some other poems. In the Palace 
Barbarigo Titian once lived, to whose memory a noble 
monument has been erected in one of the churches. 
It is embellished with statues and with bas-reliefs of 
his works. The last picture painted by this wonderful 
artist, ^'The Entombment,'^ is in the same salon with 
his famous painting of '^The Assumption.'' With 
what tremulous hand must he have wrought upon this 
last work ! and how appropriate the subject, as it pre- 
figured his own rapidly approaching dissolution ! Al- 
though ninety-nine years of age his " right hand had 
not forgot its cunning," for upon this celebrated picture 
was he working Avhen death arrested his hand. 

Upon a neighboring island is the famed Armenian 
monastery where the unhappy Byron sought refuge 



104 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

temporarily from his worst enemy, — himself. But, 
alas ! his restless spirit, grown morbid through sensi- 
bilities painfully acute, and goaded by a conscience too 
delicately organized to become deadened by his life of 
unholy license, failed to secure the peace it sought. 

Although his sins were chiefly the outgrowth of an 
entire absence of respect for woman, — and we believe 
that reverence for her is the rudder which helps to 
steer a man's soul into the heavenly port, — yet what 
woman can refuse her pity to him whose naturally 
warm, generous impulses might by a fond, judicious, 
maternal hand have been early directed, and pruned of 
all riotous growth? Warmed by a mother's sunny 
smile, watered by her tender tears, they might have 
grown into noble traits, which, through their very 
elements, if subdued and modified, would have en- 
riched his own and others' lives. 

This man of brilliant genius, but with an undisci- 
plined moral character, with tendencies belonging to 
rich emotional natures, right in themselves, only unfor- 
tunate hi their rank luxuriance and criminal in their 
unrestrained indulgence, was forced to exclaim, in bit- 
terness of spirit, — 

" I am eating the fruit of the tree I planted." 
He sought the quiet asylum of a monastic life, within 



VENICE. 105 

sight of lovely Venice and within the sound of her 
pleasant waters, but 

" The mind is its own place, and in itself 



So amid scenes of apparently holy calm, with naught 
in outside influences to ruffle the spirit^s serenity, he 
found that the tempest of passion in his soul was only 
allayed, and after a temporary lull threatened to break 
forth into thunder and storm. The monks tell now 
how earnestly he strove to adopt their habits, and 
through these external influences to minister peace and 
consolation "to a mind diseased/^ After a few months' 
retirement within the shade of this secluded life, dis- 
couraged, he returned to the glare and heat of a dissi- 
pated career. 

Venice and moonlight should be inseparable in 
reality, as they are in imagination. How chaste its 
light as it beams upon the wondrous city ! How beau- 
tiful are the queenly palaces rearing their tall forms 
against the evening sky, the classic towers standing out 
in bold relief, graceful minarets piercing the air, noble 
churches throwing their shadows on the moonlit 
waters ! How exquisite the silvery sheen, mingling 
with the blue of the waves, all things below seeming to 
reflect the beauty of night's grand illuminator ! How 
soft and mellow the voices of the serenaders who con- 

6 



105 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

stantly float by, or linger beneath the casements to win 
their well-earned reward, which, while the ear is rav- 
ished by their rich tones and sweet airs, is not grudg- 
ingly given ! We leave the window out of which we 
have leaned, our very senses beguiled, and, slipping out 
of the rear door of our hotel, emerge into the narrow 
street. In all directions there are little alley-like pas- 
sages, whose every house is sending forth its inmates, 
all wending their w^ay to the grand Venetian rendez- 
vous, St. Mark's Square. We enter it with the crowd 
of pleasure-seekers. It is enclosed on three sides by 
fine buildings, the upper portions of which, connected, 
form the residence of the king, occupied by him when 
he visits the city, the low^est story being a series of 
stores, which make a brilliant display of jewelry and 
other tempting articles. 

The chairs of the numerous cafes are mostly occupied, 
and we find some difficulty in obtaining several, with 
a table, where we may sit and, with toothsome ices be- 
fore us, enjoy the brilliant scene. In the midst is a fine 
regimental band, pouring from the mouths of many 
brass instruments the soul-stirring strains of martial 
music. Ladies with black lace veils, picturesquely 
arranged on their dark hair, fastened with showy 
arrow or bright flower; the gaudily-dressed flower- 
girl with very high-heeled slipper, which peeps forth 
from the short skirt, her hair elaborately coiffured, her 



VENICE. 107 

cheeks ruddy with paint, her eyes brightened with de- 
sire to captivate, her basket of tiny nosegays swung 
coquettishly on her arm, tripping here and there, fol- 
lowed by many a jest from her masculine customers ; 
the brilliant uniform of gay officers; the clatter of their 
trailing swords ; the eager voices of the vehement for- 
eigners, which, with their accompanying gesticulations, 
give life and vivacity to the occasion. 

Although delighted with this phase of Venetian life 
we shift the scene, by walking through the neighbor- 
ing Piazetta to the waiting boats, and stepping into an 
open one, for the night is serene and all the influences 
inexpressibly lovely, we yield ourselves up to a sen- 
suous delight, the more intense because of its novelty. 
The experience is one of unequalled enchantment. 
The twinkUng gaslights of the buildings which border 
our course are doubled by their quivering reflections 
in the waters below; gondolas with their red and blue 
liglits glancing here and there in every direction give 
a brilliant, variegated hue to the atmospliere, and in- 
deed to the element beneath us. Many parties glide 
by ; the air is rich with melodious song, which seems 
re-echoed in the refrain of voices wafted dreamily to 
us from a distance. 

We recline, and lazily watch the swaying of the 
oarsmen, who, bending low, rise with grace, seeming 
never to weary, always sustaining the poetry of mo- 



108 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

tion; the green festoons of seaweed clinging to the 
lifted oar, sparkling with liquid pearls or diamonds; 
the churches rising from the waves ; palaces looming 
up above the waters ; and pretty young faces leaning 
over balconies that are green and bright with many- 
hued flowers. So we float insensibly down the tide, 
the splash of the dipping oars like " drops of music" 
to the enchanted senses; the soft notes of warning 
breaking upon the sweet evening air. 

We seem in a delicious dream, gliding noiselessly on, 
propelled by some unseen power; for our boatman 
stands in the rear and so guides our long, narrow bark 
unseen. It moves as if by magic, adding to the illu- 
sion that we are in fairy-land, all the surroundings 
contributing to the births of fancy. 



CHAPTER YIL 
MILAN— LAKE COMO. 

MILAN. 

Milan, a large, prosperous, and affluent city, its 
buildings fine, modern, and spacious, giving elegance 
to streets broad and light, impresses one with its 
cleanliness, brightness, air of comfort, and opulence. 
Although containing much of exceeding value in sou- 
venirs of ancient and modern art, and although the 
course for driving and promenading, and the public 
gardens for lounging, are unusually attractive, yet the 
magnet which draws the world hither is the famed 
Duomo, or Cathedral. As we stand before it we 
think it must be a crystallized dream, for the magic 
architect who fills girlish visions with beauty, by erect- 
ing palaces of delight, and even in the dreamland 
through which the thoughts wander in mature life, 
with structures of almost impossible splendor, dazzling 
eyes whose practised vision demands brilliant colors 
and grand proportions to satisfy wider desires, seldom 
finds a rival in real life; for the imagination is more 

. 109 



110 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

boundless in its realm than is the capacity of the 
actual. 

The Cathedral, after St. Peter's, is the largest in 
Italy, exceeding all others in the rare beauty of its 
fret-work and intricate and delicate tracery in carving. 
Built of white marble, its exterior is absolutely daz- 
zling. It is adorned by one hundred and six pinna- 
cles and four thousand five hundred statues; the 
dome surmounted by a tower, on whose apex is a 
gigantic statue of the Virgin in bronze. We "realize 
now the full significance of the poet's meaning when 
she pronounces architecture to be " frozen music." 
Such harmony, such darting of beauty from every 
point seem to penetrate the soul with that delicious 
content that springs often from the inception into our 
thought and sense of some prolonged strains of 
melody, whose every note reverberates through the 
innermost recesses of our being. 

The length of the Cathedral is foiir hundred and 
ninety feet, its breadth two hundred and ninety-eight; 
and while its foundations appear stable, broad, and 
enduring, the upper portion is the embodiment of 
grace, pinnacles, like exhalations, rising from every 
point. We enter; shall w^e be disappointed? Amazed 
by the beauty and grace of the exterior, we almost fear 
to find a nearer view less gratifying. We stand within 
one of the finest temples "made with hands'' in the 



MILAN. Ill 

world ; but hands that were endowed with a skill 
seldom equalled. Supported by fifty-two pillars of 
seventy feet in height and eight in diameter, its form 
is that of a Latin cross. The interior abounds in 
statuary, paintings, and the most gorgeous stained glass, 
the three large windows behind the choir depicting three 
hundred scriptural scenes; their colors of ruby and 
blue of such remarkable- beauty that our eyes con- 
stantly seek them as sources, in themselves, of the 
most artistic delight. We sympathize with Ruskin's 
thought when he declares that " of all God's gifts to 
the sight of man, color is the holiest, the most divine, 
the most solemn ;" to us, embodying thoughts or emo- 
tions "too deep for tears." The love of color may be 
a sensuous taste, as is that of odor, but that it awakens 
dormant sentiment who can doubt? While gazing 
upon brilliant tints in the sky or upon those that dye 
the flowers of the field, it may be thoughts of the In- 
finite who planned and originated their beauty that 
moves our spiritual sense ; but when looking upon a 
simple dash of gorgeous color on a more prosaic object, 
or as seen in many of the stained windows in the grand 
cathedrals of Europe, who shall say that under its spell 
a harsh mood has not been softened, irritation soothed, 
and apathy won into the active, warm exercise of the 
heart's best emotions? And we believe that it is 
through this and the kindred tastes of music and odor 



1J2 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

— as in the incense — that the sentiment of worship 
in these Romish churches is developed and stimulated. 

There is something magnificent in loftiness, and as 
we walk beneath a dome two hundred and eight feet 
in height, enclosed within columns colossal in size, we 
experience sensations approaching awe, with a realiza- 
tion of physical littleness that would eifectually ob- 
literate any exaggerated sense of self-importance. 

Near one of the altars is a bronze candelabrum 
representing a tree inlaid with precious stones; It is 
a relic of the thirteenth century. 

Under the choir is the vault of St, Carlo Borromeo. 
He was a count of an ancient Milanese family, and 
nephew of Pius IVe From his earliest youth he was 
rigidly pious and severe in self-discipline. Having a 
large share in the civil government, he also accom- 
plished much for the papal authority, effecting by his 
great influence the results of the Council of Trent. 
As archbishop of Milan he established many noble 
institutions and was unwearied in good works. Dying 
at the age of forty-six, he was canonized some years 
after; his embalmed body dressed in pontifical robes, 
which are richly and profusely studded with precious 
gems, was placed in a crystal sarcophagus. The dis- 
play of rare workmanship and of immense jewels is 
surprising. The crosiers and mitre are of great value 
and beauty, while the sarcophagus, which is supported 



MILAN. 1 ] 3 

by ornaments of wrought silver, bears the cross in 
heavy gold of Philip IV. of Spain, who presented it. 
Indeed, the body of the saint is covered with gifts 
from crowned heads and of the nobility. The ceiling 
of the vault is inlaid with tablets of silver, representing 
the prominent events in the life of the celebrated pre- 
late, particularly of his self-sacrificing efforts to assuage 
the sufferings of the sick and dying during the plague 
of 1576. 

Not far from the choir stands a marble statue as 
remarkable in execution as it is striking in conception. 
It is that of St. Bartholomew represented as flayed, — the 
entire skin, retaining the form of the still living body, 
hangs over his shoulder. The sculptor has proved his 
skill by making the representation so curiously real as 
to be almost shocking to, at least, feminine sensibilities. 
It is comforting to know, however, that it is a work of 
the imagination, as history assures us his death was 
effected by crucifixion. 

To obtain a more accurate idea of this wonderful 
Cathedral and to enjoy an experience very novel in its 
character, we accede to the proposition of the guide 
to ascend to the roof, and there wander through its 
labyrinthine foot-paths amid statues innumerable ; pin- 
nacles of Gothic form covered with fret-work ; spires 
jutting everywhere; and towers and ornaments in great 
variety. The whole roof, '^a multiform unit," is com- 

6- 



114 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

posed of flat blocks of white naarble, the long spaces 
of devious way varied by occasional successions of 
steps. A long journey before we are bidden to halt 
and gaze upon a view well worth the effort made to 
obtain it. There lies the city in the midst of a fertile, 
pleasant plain ; the river Olona gliding by, the Alps 
hovering near, and the Apennines looming up in the far 
horizon. It is a strange situation, roaming on the lofty 
top of a building so broad and so intricate in its wind- 
ings as to excite the fear of beino^ lost amidst it§ forest 
of marble spires. 

One of the most ancient churches we have visited is 
that of Sant' Ambrogio. The marble pulpit, which is 
itself deserving of studious attention, is said to be the 
same as that from which St. Ambrose preached a.d. 
387. Among many curious and antiquated relics of 
ages gone by are the missals, held in sacred keeping 
and shown only by a priest, who himself turns their 
precious pages. Dating from the twelfth century, they 
are written on parchment, very legibly, and even 
beautifully. At the beginning of each chapter are 
many sketches brilliantly illuminated in rich colors. 
The young priest who displays these treasures to us in- 
vites scrutiny. Drooping shoulders and an ungainly 
figure deprives him of much physical advantage, but a 
keen, intelligent eye, and smile so bright and sunny 
that it can even lighten priestly gloom, helps to re- 



MILAN, 115 

deem other deficiencies. Discoveriiis^ our io^norance of 
his native tongue, he meets us on common ground in 
the French, through whose airy medium his lively 
sense of the ludicrous, his ready wit and rich fund of 
information make sparkling and piquant his comments 
upon the pictured ornamentations of the missals and 
other odd features of the ancient church. On a pillar 
of porphyry, near the centre of the church, a brazen 
serpent is twined, rearing its frightful head aloft. It 
is affirmed that the common people consider this the 
identical serpent which Moses held up in the desert, 
inviting the gaze of the Israelites that they might be 
healed. It is also believed among them that at the end 
of the world this serpent will hiss. Pointing to this 
brazen representation, our priestly guide explains that 
many think this is the veritable serpent of the wilder- 
ness, but, with a contemptuous shake of the head, he 
declares the belief to be the outgrowth of ''^superstition, 
superstition.^^ Associating priestly reticence and rigidity 
of manner with the sect he represents, we are surprised 
by his great affability and communicativeness, and 
much amused by his evident ignoring of the masculine 
element of our party and his devotion to the fairest of 
the other sex, giving earnest invitation to repeat the 
visit, when he with pleasure will again act as our 
cicerone. So gentlemanly is his mien that we feel 
some awkwardness in proffering the usual gratuity, 



llg WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

and he, too, feels some embarrassment, as on receiving 
it he volunteers the unusual explanation that it shall be 
devoted to the poor. 

In the former refectory of the Dominican convent 
belonging to the church Santa Maria, is Leonardo 
da Vinci's most famous painting, '^The Last Supper." 
Under the blighting effects of time this justly cele- 
brated picture had become much faded and marred. 
But its ruin was almost consummated when Napoleon 
I. taking possession of Milan, the convent wa5 trans- 
formed into barracks ; its refectory, containing one of 
the art-gems of the world, being used as a stable for 
horses. We cannot believe that Napoleon, such a 
lover of the arts as to be thievingly covetous of their 
treasures, transporting them from every city he con- 
quered to Paris, and there proudly displaying them 
as trophies of war, could have known "to what vile 
use had come at last'' this apartment, made sacred by 
the marvellous representation of one of the most 
pathetic, solemn, and sublime scenes in our Saviour's 
human experience. 

The fresco covers one entire end of the large room, 
rewarding even in its partial obliteration and impaired 
beauty, repeated visits. Leonardo, it is said, concen- 
trated his thought for two entire years upon the manner 
in which best to depict on the face of Judas the abject 
meanness, the consummate depravity, the devilish per- 



LAKE COMO. 117 

fidy of his heart. Perhaps the world is indebted to 
the fact — in moral view to be deplored — of his enter- 
taining vindictive hatred to the prior of the convent, 
which sought gratification by giving to his features the 
Satanic expression of our Lord's betrayer. If this be 
a fact, it would seem that the existence of malignity in 
the heart, may endow with inspiration the hand that 
strives to giye it outward expression. 

LAKE COMO. 

Perhaps we draw too heavily upon our imagination, 
and should, if challenged, be unable to substantiate 
our belief, when we think that there are localities as 
adapted to the various mental conditions as others are 
to the physical. Nature, with a tact and power inim- 
itable, has brought together certain elements, not always 
tangible, — -but perceptible to the senses, — to bear upon 
the changing moods wiiich characterize our imperfect 
humanity. These are more noticeable, perhaps, in our 
sex than in that more rugged one, whose blunter sensi- 
bilities make it more invulnerable to the many in- 
fluences that vibrate upon the chords of the feminine 
heart. Should this thought be resolved into a fact, 
would not the lofty, rugged mountain ranges of Swit- 
zerland be most congenial to the strong, undaunted 
courage of the brave-hearted; its heights struggling 
heavenward, in sympathy with the aspirations of the 



118 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ambitious soul ; its frosty air and rough winds adapted 
to the temperament of those to whom softness or gen- 
tleness of spirit is a stranger, and who find in them 
a semblance to the stormy passions that sweep through 
their own hearts? But to those w^hose nature is the 
nestling place of tender emotions, dreamy thoughts, 
and brooding fancies, how much that favors its growth 
and grants it sweet indulgence is there in the very 
atmosphere, seeming filled with poetry, of the balmy 
land of Italy, in its soft, fleecy clouds, and 'in the 
manifold influences which nature holds in her keeping! 

We first look upon Lake Como in June, the love- 
liest of months, and on one of its loveliest days, 
through whose bright hours the sun has shone un- 
wearied ly, but with a fervor tempered by the breezes, 
which have caught freshness from the waters as they 
skim over them. The very name of the lake implies 
beauty, or is it that we have always so associated 
beauty with Lake Como that its name has grown to 
be synonymous with it ? However that may be, when 
the word Como falls upon our ear or meets our eye on 
printed page, there is a scene of beauty and charm 
floating before us that seems could only be borne on the 
wings of dreamy fancy. 

The lake is at the foot of the Alps, the mountains 
extending around and above it to the height often of 
eight or nine hundred feet. Most of them are clothed 



LAKE CO MO, 119 

in a mantle of green, with growth of tree and shrub, 
while others are wearing proudly their robes of purest 
snow. In the boat that is taking us to Bellagio, sit- 
uated at a point which is midway of the lake and where 
its beauty seems to culminate, we are reminded that 
there is something in the scenery singularly adapted 
to the languid mood which has settled upon us. A 
languor that js not the lassitude which is the offspring 
of an enfeebled condition, or the accompaniment of 
disease, — one of its most trying features, — but that 
state of being when all disturbing causes having been 
banished, the mind is in perfect repose, a soft dreami- 
ness flooding the soul, allowing the gentle thought to 
flow without let or hindrance. Drifting along in lux- 
urious content, one's individuality fades out into a state 
of utter negation, which is ofttimes one of placid en- 
joyment. Nature, here, is in sympathy with the mood. 
Inertia seems to have been the principle on which these 
exquisite scenes have been planned. All about us is 
suggestive of rest. The line of ponderous peaks which 
forms the background hints to us of a more rugged 
experience beyond, but the present is hedged in by 
influences relaxing, softening, and soothing. The hills 
incline in gentle undulations toward the lake, greeting 
it with sunny slopes studded with bright-eyed flowers ; 
the face of the sweet waters on which w^e glide break- 
ing into dimples; beautiful villas on its borders, their 



120 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

gardens proving the prolificness of the clime by masses 
of bloom, blossom, and clustering vines; the skies 
above assuming a softness and tenderness that suggest 
the fancy that they are but the fleecy veil that half 
conceals the angel faces beaming upon this lower world. 
The zephyrs, so deliciously sweet, may be their breath 
wafting blessings to us. The "glorious piles'' of 
mountain peaks, whose snowy heads are often painted 
by the rays of the sun with a creamy golden hue, or 
wdth colors beautifully suggestive of rose and Crimson. 
Some so concealed by ambient mist that we can scarce 
tell where their outline ceases and the sky begins, the 
lofty summits of those in the distance seeming to re- 
pose upon the billowy bosom of the clouds; these 
giants in nature, like the strong in human life, seeking, 
Samson-like, to recline upon a lesser strength ! 

A marked peculiarity of this famed and beautiful 
lake is its graceful irregularity. Often we imagine 
ourselves at its terminus, apparently shut in by tower- 
ing hills and bordering meadows, until suddenly a 
silvery flowing pathway opens to us nevv^ views of such 
beauty as in Lake Como reaches the acme of natural 
charm. The trip is a succession of sweet surprises; 
nor is it strange that they should remind us of their 
counterpart in life's experiences. How often does the 
soul seem environed by apprehensions and by perplex- 
ing cares; fate shutting it in to a gloom from which 



LAKE CO 310. 121 

light seems effectually secluded ; no opportunity pos- 
sible for escape from what a])pears inevitable ! But 
unexpectedly the clouds of adversity disperse, the 
glorious beams of the sun flood the darkened soul, 
showers of divine mercy refresh the weary spirit, and 
joy comes in bright array ! 



CHAPTER YIIL 

SWITZERLAND. 

Switzerland^ with its wonderful passes and lovely 
valleys, is to us as yet an unexplored Canaan. We 
anticipate with eagerness the pleasure we know to be 
in store for the lover of nature. We have brought 
with us a rich sauce for the feast, in an enthusiasm 
which will give relish to all that is to be spread before 
our vision. It has ever been our conviction that this 
attribute of the soul, this sentiment of the heart, 
which we call enthusiasm, is a requisite to the full 
enjoyment of life and beauty. It is inspiring; it is 
the energy with w^hich the soul recognizes and digests 
the richest meaning of the powers of nature ; whereby 
the mountains excite deep veneration, the flowers of 
the field convey *^ mysterious truths," and the heavenly 
bodies speak to us in illuminated texts. Life — who 
can deny it ? — is so full of the chilling prose of reserve ; 
so formal in its manifestations ; so commonplace, shal- 
low, and artificial in many of its phases, that we find 
an earnest sentiment, true feeling, or, in other words, 
122 



SWITZERLAND. 123 

a well-disciplined enthusiasm, gives a warm impulse 
to the currents of life; and while it enriches the 
nature from which it emanates, sheds a reflected glow 
upon other and colder natures. 

Endowed, then, with this joy-giving sentiment, we 
are prepared to read upon the inspired pages of nature 
the grand truths which she would reveal to her own 
children. No interpreter is needed, as her language is 
a universal one. On the Alpine heights we read the 
title of her works, " Excelsior'^ ; and in her valleys, the 
sweet humility which adds grace and beauty to the soul 
of God's creating. We discover nature's treasures to 
be more satisfying than are the gems of art; the former 
revealed to us in Switzerland, the latter in Italy. 

Riding in the "diligences" over the passes of Swit- 
zerland is one of the principal and most delightful 
features of travel in that country. The element of 
danger, always prominent, — although creating less fear 
in some than in others, according to the individual 
temperament, — adds much to the exciting interest of 
the experience. Indeed, all the circumstances are 
refreshingly novel. The position, perhaps never be- 
fore assumed, on the top of the lumbering coach is 
in itself amusing. The peculiar gurgling sound that 
the driver makes in urging his trusty animals to 
greater speed is as characteristic as the warning-cry of 
the Venetian gondolier. The prolonged crack of the 



124 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

whip as it whizzes around the ears of the horses, who 
know by loDg experience that its sound is more threat- 
ening than its touch is painful, is ahiiost as stimu- 
lating to the passenger's spirits as it is to the horse's 
pace. Then the wonderful panorama that flits by our 
delighted eyes as we dash on our course, keeping every 
sense on the qui vive lest some choice bit of nature, 
some chef-d'oeuvre of her master-hand, shall escape our 
eager attention. 

The little town of Coire is situated very prettily in 
the fertile valley of the Signe Caddie. Here we take 
the diligence for St. Moritz by the Albula Pass. 

On ascending the mountain-side we are afforded dis- 
tinct views of the pleasant little village we have left. 
So comfortably secure does it seem in its quiet, secluded 
nook ; so free from the noisy bustle of distant cities, 
naught but the soothing ripple of its gentle river ; so 
peaceful and content in its natural shelter of high hills, 
that we wonder if we shall not regret the indulgence 
of our ambition to scale the dizzy heights beyond, and 
find that the first estate was more desirable than the 
elevation toward which we are aiming. But the vil- 
lage is soon lost to view, as early joys are to memory, 
by subsequent experiences, and our thought and at- 
tention are absorbed by the varied scene before us. 
Prodigious mountains, by their side hills which seem 
like lambs lying down by the lion; modest streams 



S WITZERLAND. 125 

flowing beneath the heavy shadows, leaving, feminine- 
like, their influence of beauty, although so quietly 
exerted ; chalets on the mountain peaks, — do their oc- 
cupants think to make their transit from this earthly 
to their heavenly home less difficult and long? — cas- 
cades leaping from immeasurable heights to our feet ; 
terrific gorges gaping beside us; the bells on the horses 
jingling merrily Avhile they prance gayly on, as if in- 
different to the fact that one false step would plunge us 
into the fathomless abyss on whose very edge we are 
driving. Even when several thousand feet above the 
level of the sea we pass small Alpine villages, and 
sometimes a single chalet. The smoke from its roof 
curling gracefully in and out among the dark foliage, 
indicating the presence of a house, is always associated 
in our minds with domestic comfort and content, af- 
fording a text for a dream of the home-life warmed by 
its fires. The clouds of this glorious day are resplen- 
dent ; 'tis " the bridal of the earth and sky," a harmo- 
nious union. The heavens shed a bright beauty and 
light upon field, tree, and hill-top ; and the earth, grate- 
ful for these happy gifts, responds by reflecting the 
charms of its own inherent beauty. Banks of fleecy 
clouds sink low on the mountain's side, just as beauty 
droops its graceful form or head upon the ample breast 
which loves to shelter it. The snow -tipped mountains 
lift their pure crowns on high, as if to offer them to 



126 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

heaven's acceptance. Little graveyards full of touch- 
ing memorials of the dead occupy sunny slopes, for 
even in this pure air death comes to all. Frowning 
rocks, black and threatening; mountains densely cov- 
ered with the darkest green foliage ; others lying in 
their shroud of snow, on a line— although higher — 
with those that are decked with the culminating rich- 
ness of midsummer's verdure. 

At times we wend our w^ay through narrow defiles, 
and on emerging a scene dawns upon our view such as 
would develop enthusiasm in a soul which had never 
before thrilled with the glorious emotion. Again the 
scenery changes ; a pall seems to have fallen upon the 
face of nature. All is weird, dreary, and barren. The 
air burdened with a weight intangible, penetrates our 
souls, and Ave sigh in sympathetic heaviness of spirit ; 
soon again, however, we dash into a new experience, 
full of gladness and beauty. Ah ! there is in life, too, 
but a step, often, between the sombre and the bright, 
the dull and the gay. We pass through many pic- 
turesque villages, whose surrounding meadows are deep 
in bloom. Often do we wade through masses of varie- 
gated blossoms, treading upon flowers as we had never 
dreamed of doing, literally. 

We discover that many hamlets cluster around a 
large, majestic-looking town-pump. It is the medium 
through which the simple-hearted villagers offer hos- 



SWITZERLAND. 127 

pitality to thirsty Alpine tourists. At its ample trough, 
too, the beasts of burden slake their thirst; but its 
most picturesque use is when, as the public wash-tub, 
it is surrounded by housewives who bend together over 
their tasks. Their native costumes now show off to 
advantage, as with bared arms they rub and rub, sea- 
soning their efforts with much spice of tongue. What 
opportunity for gossip! Surely the same nature ani- 
mates these Alpine folk, living midw^ay between the 
sea-level and the clouds, as inspires their sisters in our 
own land over the sea ! 

While crossing over the Simplon we meet ^vith an 
unusual experience. The severity of the preceding 
winter has manifested itself in vast accumulations of 
snow, which, falling from the lofty heights above, 
obstructed the roads so seriously as to render them im- 
passable. Under the magic touch of the frost-king 
this has become at one point a glacier of ice. As the 
material prosperity of this country, in a considerable 
degree, is dependent upon the influx of strangers wdio 
yearly travel over its great mountain passes, it was 
thought expedient to tunnel a passage through the ice, 
and this having been successfully accomplished, we 
attempt, a week later, to penetrate its frosty length. 
Before entering we instinctively halt, as if to summon 
fortitude for an encounter with the ice-king. A mo- 
ment later and we are encircled bv walls and vault 



128 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

of crystal, for it shines and glitters with a dazzling 
purity. The air is cold and chilling, and as we gather 
our mantles closer about us a reserve creeps over the 
party, not a word being spoken during the ten minutes 
occupied in making the trsLUSit,. although the majority 
are ladies! Who can tell, but at any moment we 
may be crushed and buried by falling masses of ice? 
Emerging from our ice-bound passage, we ride many 
miles farther between lofty walls of snow, a road 
having been dug out at great trouble and expenee. On 
reaching the summit of the pass, we rest a while at the 
^' New Hospice,'^ so called, which was founded by 
Napoleon I. More than fifteen thousand travellers are 
entertained here every year, and are expected to leave 
a gratuity. It is a spot of peculiar dreariness, subject 
all the year round to falls of snow ; its altitude being 
six thousand five hundred and ninety-four feet above 
the sea-level. The building is very large, plain, and 
substantial. Built of stone, it resists successfully the 
assaults of the elements, to which, from its elevated 
position, it is greatly exposed. Deep gorges yawn 
before it, while on every side, either near or remote, 
"Alps rise on Alps.^' For many consecutive months 
the "Hospice" is inaccessible, and here, "cribbed, 
cabined, and confined," is a forlorn company of monks. 
We enter the building from curiosity, but find its cold, 
cheerless walls and stone floors more repelling than the 



SWITZERLAND. 129 

outside desolation, for there the blue sky looks friendly, 
and somewhat redeems the barren gloom and frigid 
isolation of the scene. A monk with smiling face dis- 
penses the wine, wdiich, in this country, is so simple in 
its nature that it merely " cheers and not inebriates." 
With great compassion we contemplate his circum- 
stances and those of his fellows. His face is irradiated 
with smiles, it is true, but are they not due to the 
pleasure, a temporary one, of renewing his intercourse 
with a world from which the rigorous severity of his 
religion has shut him out? He is evidently enjoying 
the w^arm, reviving influences brought from the busy 
scenes far down below the clouds, in which he shivers 
out his youth and early manhood. We wonder why 
any creed should assume that asceticism which banishes 
from the heart the glow that Heaven meant should 
illumine it ! Why not take for its model the religion 
which inculcates "mercy and not sacrifice;" which does 
not encourage the ignoring of those domestic ties which 
humanize men's natures, and kindle in their souls, 
emotions that have something of angel-light in them? 
Paul, the great expounder of our faith, declared, it is 
true, that he preferred a life of celibacy, and hinted at 
the disadvantages of the married state ; but would not 
he have been happier if a Mrs. Paul had lightened 
his sorrows by sharing them ; brightening the gloom 
which inevitably shadows, at times, such grand souls 



130 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

as his, by a love full of feminine tenderness and tact? 
Perhaps she might have plucked from his "flesh'' that 
mysterious " thorn'' to which he pathetically alludes, 
or at least have, through fond sympathy, mitigated its 
smart ! 

We think, then, while looking over the cheerless 
apartments and empty corridors of this monastic abode, 
that were domestic influences allowed here, an inviting, 
liome-like air would make attractive what is now really 
repelling; and that the Alpine wanderer would then 
turn with grateful word and more eager step to bide 
the morning sunrise by an ingle, made the cheerier 
for a woman's kindly greeting and children's bright 
smiles. Believing with Victor Hugo, that "the double 
life is the happy one," we wish that every self-deny- 
ing laborer in God's vineyard was a happy Benedict 
and a pater-familias. 

Studying nature during these wonderful drives, we 
enjoy drawing the parallel between it and the human 
nature, whose prototype it is; finding in its mighty 
heart much that is in unison with the throbbing pulses 
of humanity, and so close a similarity to the workings 
and manifestations of the female nature, that we claim 
the justness of its title to the feminine gender. To be 
sure, in its strongest types, when it rises to majestic 
forms, which masterfully overshadow the smiling land- 
scape ; when with overwhelming force it pours in thun- 



S WJ TZERLA ND. 131 

deriiig cataract or impetuous torrent down the mountain- 
side, conquering the sweet valleys by its floods; or when, 
in mighty tempest, it sweeps through the land, claim- 
ing in its victorious march the more delicate forms of 
tree, shrub, and flower as its trophies ; or when, in the 
sublime power of the ocean, it bears heavy fleets in its 
strong embrace, and cements continents indissolubly, it 
seems to lose its feminine character ; yet w^e remember 
that in the feminine sex there are exceptional cases, in 
which masculine elements of character are conspicuous, 
the gentler, lovelier, and milder types, however, pre- 
dominating. 

Nature has, in its bright, fair aspects, many that are 
analogous to the phases of womanly character and feel- 
ing, and others that correspond to the general experi- 
ence of life. 

When during our Alpine journeys we reach a higher 
plane, we are surprised by the quick transit of a passing 
cloud, followed by the falling of a momentary shower, 
and then a dazzling sunlight that, making prisms of 
the drops, fills the sky with added beauty; so, often 
have we seen in the highest types of female organiza- 
tion a soft shade of sadness steal into the eye, succeeded 
by the shedding of gentle tears, which, even as they 
flow, are brightened by sunny smiles. Tearful eyes 
are often the outlook of a soul of deepest sensibility 
and tenderness, as the fervid sky of a summer day 



132 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

often, burdened with warmth, relieves itself by a gentle 
shower. Then, too, while looking upon nature from a 
level stand-point, we have compared it to a casual view 
of woman's nature. How little does a superficial ob- 
server realize the depth and capacity of her soul ; its 
self-sacrificing devotion ; the wealth of its emotions ! 
But as we approach nearer and penetrate its recesses, we 
are reminded of the fertile valleys whose depths reveal 
so much of charm. Their pure crystal lakes, — which 
reflect the skies, God's throne, — whose borders are 
fringed with forget-me-nots, symbols of fidelity ; lilies 
of the valley, types of innocence and purity ; and with 
starlike flowers, suggestive of heavenly aspirations. 
The soil of these deep valleys is like, in richness, a 
true woman's soul, abundantly rewarding him who 
would probe to its depth and test its resources. 

In tracing the analogy we do not forget the occa- 
sional wayward moods of nature ; when squalls arise, 
sometimes sudden and always disagreeable ; deranging 
the sweet order of meadows and gardens, the home of 
flowers. Spiteful rain-drops falling from angry clouds, 
obscuring the smile of the sun ; cold breezes chilling 
the atmosphere. Can many lives boast an entire ex- 
emption from similar experiences? Do not dismal 
rains of sorrow and pain sometimes beat against the 
home of our emotions, — the heart, — sighing winds 
echoing through its darkened chambers? Sometimes 



SWITZERLAND. 133 

shrieking blasts bursting its doors, uprooting the 
sweet growth of blooming affections, destroying every 
bud of promise; its secret recesses resounding with 
groanings and wai lings of human misery. 



CHAPTER IX. 
CHAMOUNI— GENEVA— CHILLON. 

CHAMOUNI. 

" Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains. 
They crowned him long ago 
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 
"With a diadem of snow." 

The Valley of Chamouni is celebrated not only for 
its inherent beauty, but for its juxtaposition to its 
majestic neighbor, Mont Blanc. We are introduced 
to his majesty, and, looking up to the hoary head, are 
filled with reverence for what bears upon its noble brow 
the stamp of sovereignty, its presence indicating vast 
superiority to the august members of his suite who 
cluster around hinu The glacier, formed by the snow 
which falls from the summit of Mont Blanc, lies on 
its side, revealing to unaccustomed eyes some of the 
curious and interesting features of this freak of nature. 
Its undulated and crystallized surface is like a palette 
on which the sun, the greatest of colorists, mixes at 
morn and eve his richest dyes. 
134 



CHAMOVNI. 135 

Establishing ourselves at the Hotel cFAngleterre, at 
Chamouni, we take donkeys and guides and start one 
morning on an excursion to the Mer de Glace. Cross- 
ing the little bridge in front of the hotel, we jolt on in 
a devious path some distance before beginning the as- 
cent. Soon after a very fine view of the valley, with 
the imposing line of opposite mountains, opens to us, 
and as we ride higher and higher on our zigzag 
course the panorama extends and widens, discovering 
to us a long stretch of the valley, with its fertilizing 
stream dividing: the double rano;e of mountains. At 
length, after a toilsome pull for the poor donkeys, 
whose backs have often been weighed down by Amer- 
ican burdens, we stop abrnptly on the edge of a steep 
declivity and look upon dazzling masses of snow and 
ice. Their dense accumulations suggest the rigors of 
a Polar scene. A sea is indeed before us, but it is as 
if its life's flow had been suspended, its currents con- 
gealed ; as if the o'erlapping waves had been arrested 
in the midst of tumultuous activity. As though the 
Divine mandate, "Peace, be still," had been uttered 
during a "great storm of wind;" when the waves, 
lashed into fury, hearing suddenly the only voice which 
could still them, had instantly calmed, before smoothing 
the deep furrows ploughed into their angry surface. 
The ice is of a greenish hue, the color adding to its 
effectiveness. The extreme end of the Mer de Glace, 



136 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

at the bottom of the valley, is called the Glacier des 
Bois. At the upper extremity it forms two branches, 
bearing different names ; these are prominent adjuncts 
to a really hyperborean scene, affording to the scientist 
varied phenomena for study and solution. 

The members of another party, a company of pe- 
destrians, cross the Mer de Glace and pursue a cir- 
cuitous route. Constantly ascending, they soon come 
to the famous ^^Mauvais Pas,'^ which consists in the 
rounding of a jutting rock, on a pathw^ay noade on 
its face, as it were. All would instinctively ejaculate 
a prayer and consign themselves to a higher power, 
for, while hemmed in by a gigantic rock on one 
side, a very Charybdis yawns on the other, ready to 
engulf them should their feet slip. We are almost 
enclosed within bulwarks of massive, towering rocks, 
at whose base a sea once flowed, but which now, with 
dumb eloquence, invokes the wondering attention of 
all beholders. So we sit in happy security, following 
through powerful glasses the progress of the bolder 
party as they wend their ghostly way over the crystal- 
like sea. 

How dwarfed they appear in the distance below us ! 
but as they gradually ascend a height parallel and equal 
to our own, with bated breath we watch their passage 
over the perilous spot with name of ominous sound, — 
" Mauvais Pas.'' They have reached it ! a guide 



CHAMOUNI. 137 

preceding, extends his hand, which is grasped by a Mr. 
Faintheart or a Miss Timorous, who are won, through 
much coaxing, round the curve. We shout our con- 
gratulations and breathe freer, as we rise and prepare to 
mount our donkeys, to return to the little village of 
Chamouni, which nature seems to have taken under its 
strong protection, by building about it ramparts of 
rocks and mountains. 

As we descend the declivities which we have so re- 
cently climbed, we find ourselves often in danger of 
doing so in a manner at once indecorous and dangerous, 
—head first. The clouds have gathered and broken 
in a drenching shower, but when we are midway on 
our journey the sun bursts forth and gives us a glad 
welcome to our village resting-place, and so continues 
to bless us until we bid farewell to the peaceful, pictu- 
resque vale of Chamouni. 

In reviewing the experience we are reminded of its 
analogous bearing upon many situations in life. There 
are often crises in men's histories when, through combi- 
nations of circumstances, they find their temporal 
prosperity — and perhaps their spiritual welfare is in- 
volved — dependent upon escape from a threatened 
disaster. Should they bridge the gulf, their lives will 
" lead on to fortune," and it may be their eternal in- 
terest, also, be insured ; but should they fail to reach 
the visible goal by a fatal false step, they are compro- 

7* 



138 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

mised and engulfed in irredeemable ruin. Heaven is 
watching the conflict^ and, perchance, one of its minis- 
tering angels in human guise, with encouraging voice 
and helping hand, guides the almost despairing man 
past the point, beyond which is the security and 
happiness he seeks. 

GENEVA. 

Geneva has few objects of art to amuse the traveller, 
and yet it wooes many to a protracted stay amid such 
natural beauty as appeals eloquently to the universal 
heart and bids it rejoice in nature's works. The city 
is associated with historic events which linger in the 
memory of the intelligent mnid. It is dear to the 
Protestant, whose faith was here cherished, fostered, 
and ripened under the warm sympathy of its Cal- 
vinistic friends and supporters. Here Calvin and 
Knox found refuge and hospitable protection from 
enemies and persecutors. Indeed, Geneva was the 
Swiss cradle in which the tumult of opposition was 
soothed and the Reformation nursed into a more ro- 
bust growth. The pulpit chair which Calvin occupied 
still retains its honored place in the Cathedral, and is 
reverenced as a souvenir of a man who, although a 
harsh controversialist, a bitter opponent, an intolerant 
upholder of the new dogma, yet commands our respect, 
because of the intense sincerity which was the under- 



GENEVA. 139 

current of his life. Although the Christian world 
cannot endorse certain of liis acts, imputing them to a 
fanatical zeal, yet we must not forget that such men 
and times are not to be judged from the stand-point of 
the present age. As one of the fathers of the Refor- 
mation, which was struggling in the weakness of its 
infancy with nations and potentates for its mighty 
enemies ; the powers of hell arrayed against it ; the 
superhuman effort of papal strength sworn to strangle 
its young life ; he must needs exercise a combative 
spirit, and in the dire emergency of the case put forth 
all the resistive power of his strong nature and astute 
intellect to succor and support the spiritual bantling, 
as the disciples of the Romish creed considered it. 
And so with fiery breath, injudicious ardor, and, we 
grieve to confess, in some instances, relentless crueUy, 
he fought with desperate intensity for the new faith, 
the adopted child of his religious nature. 

The city is built upon the southern extremity of Lake 
Geneva, whose waters, always blue, and its borders, 
which nature has beautified and art has further embel- 
lished, are attractions that delight the traveller. Skim- 
ming the blue surface are little vessels, whose unique 
sails form a striking feature in the pretty scene. They 
are formed like the quills once used as pens and crossed, 
so that their appearance at a short distance is very 
peculiar and picturesque. Many splendid hotels are 



140 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

built on the very borders of the lake ; stately palaces 
proudly overlook it, — -one a magnificent home of the 
Eothschilds; villages cluster under the shadow of the 
sweeping range of mountains, above which Mont Blanc 
shines pre-eminent, '^ with its diadem of snow ;" fine 
bridges span the river at its confluence with the lake, a 
short suspension bridge connecting one of them with 
the little isle, in whose shady bowers Rousseau is said 
to have delighted to sit and ruminate. 

The Public Gardens are situated on the borders of 
the lake, to whose surface swans lend a graceful beauty. 
Strangers win them to a near approach by feeding 
them, and they are considered public pets. Music adds 
its animating influence, while rich verdure, bowers of 
green, and skies of unusual brilliancy and of blue most 
ethereal, make the scene one of great loveliness. The 
river Rhone, which flows through Lake Geneva, makes 
its noisy exit not far below, dashing with impetuous 
rapidity from the waters with which it has mingled, as 
if impatient to resume its original personality. At a 
still lower point a most curious sight is presented to 
the traveller. Standing on the bridge, one looks down 
upon long floating sheds, in which many women are 
assembled washing clothing; inclined planks answer 
the purpose of wash-boards, and the river is the uni- 
versal tub. Energetic action, corresponding with the 
activity of many tongues, makes the scene a lively one, 



GENEVA. 141 

and although a j)rosaic it is not an uninteresting feature 
to the spectator. 

Lying like a green nest upon the blue waters is 
Rousseau's little island. We look upon his statue 
erected here many years since by his fellow-citizens, 
and wonder that, as he gazed upon the everlasting hills 
which encompassed him, his moral thought was not 
elevated by their contemplation ; that the sweet calm 
of the scene, with the soothing flowing of the tide, did 
not speak peace to his perturbed spirit ; that his morbid 
misanthropy w^as not dissipated by the sunny beauty 
that met his eye ; that his philosophy did not become 
more cheerful, and his views assume a more rational 
character; for the lesson nature would teach is one that 
gives a healthier tone to the diseased mental and moral 
system ; and strange it seems that any one of its de- 
votees could prove a dull pupil under such tuition ! 

Geneva was the adopted home of many who were 
famed in the world of letters, all its influences being 
favorable to mental growth and labor. Among these 
were Voltaire and Madame de Stael. The former spent 
the last twenty-two years of his life at Ferney, four 
miles from the city, and many now visit the spot so 
closely associated with the literary life of the remark- 
able man, for here he wrote some of his best works. 
While through his versatile talents literature was en- 
riched in many departments, his character, vain, cyn- 



142 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ical, and impious, failed to reflect credit upon humanity. 
The great laclv in his intellectual efforts, as in his life, 
was the grand soul which is needed to illuminate both ; 
its animated glow giving living fire to thought; and 
color, richness, and warmth to sentiment. When in- 
tellectual force is un wedded to soul -power, the grand 
source of inspiration, its results fail to awaken warm 
enthusiasm, even while they receive the critical com- 
mendation of scholarly minds. 

We turn with pleasure to the great female celebrity, 
whose name belongs, probably, to the greatest of all 
female writers. We admire this wonderful woman the 
more as her intellect, although so profound as to en- 
trench in its power upon the masculine, was united to 
a quickness of perception and richness of imagination 
purely feminine ; for we believe this combination to be 
a rare one. Generally, it is the prosaic workman who 
lays the ponderous foundations of a structure, and 
other and delicately-skilled hands that form the ornate 
embellishment. And so the profound thinker and 
philosophical essayist is seldom one with the graceful 
novelist, whose pretty play of fancy belongs to an in- 
tellect of lighter calibre. We recognize, too, in Mad- 
ame de Stael the beautiful union of mind and heart ; the 
remarkable power of the one not absorbing that of the 
other. We give tender pity to the richly-endowed 
woman who, with the greenest of laurel thick upon her 



GENEVA. 143 

brow ; the great of the earth doing her honor ; her aid 
and friendship solicited, although too late, by one of the 
most brilliant of temporary monarchs ; the world com- 
posing her admirers; yet exclaimed, in referring to one 
who was eminently winning in person and manner, *■' I 
would give every brilliant thought I ever conceived 
myself, or developed in another, for such power to win 
affection." Here the feminine nature asserted itself, 
and, we think, nobly, for the thirst for affection is a 
holy one. Her intellectual appetite was abundantly 
appeased, yet her great womanly heart cried out with 
a yearning that culture, honor, wealth, or any other 
material good could not satisfy. We have read that 
she was plain and unattractive in person; and we be- 
lieve that nature, although we would speak reverently 
and even lovingly of her, takes a grim pleasure in en- 
closing her richest gems of soul and intellect within 
settings singularly incongruous. But we also believe 
that a woman with a fine soul cannot be ugly; the 
torch of genius or rich emotion lit in the soul must 
shed sparkling light through its windows, — the eyes, — 
irradiating the whole face with glow almost divine. 

While wondering at her taste, we rejoice to read of 
her marriage with the young French oiBcer, De Rocca, 
who, after distinguishing himself by his bravery in 
Spain, enfeebled by his wounds, came to live in 
Geneva.. Madame de StaeFs sympathy, happily ex- 



144 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

pressed, won his heart. Deeply enamored, he declared, 
^' I love her so passionately that she will marry me 
at last/^ And so she did ; and, notwithstanding the 
disparity in their ages, they lived happily together until 
death divorced them, six years after, her marriage 
being kept secret until after her death. 

CHILLON, 

It is at the close of an afternoon in midsummer that 
the Castle of Chillon, in all its sombre majesty,-^ greets 
our sight. Built upon a solitary rock, which projects 
twenty yards into the lake, it is connected with the 
shore by a bridge. Very irregular in its construction, 
of massive walls and large central tower, it looms up 
in the landscape in a gloom, symbolical of the middle 
ages, when it was built for a fortress, serving now as 
an arsenal. 

The hour chosen to visit it is an appropriate one ; 
the day has been brilliant, sparkling, and bright with 
joyous sunshine. Nature now has suspended her ac- 
tivities; a becoming languor has stolen over her; the 
sun is descending from his throne on high ; shadows 
beffin to leno-then on the hill-sides ; the birds have 
ceased their heyday song and are twittering " good- 
night" in leafy bowers; and the bees are satiated with 
their prolonged feast amid the clover-bloom. The 
breezes, after gayly frolicking with the enticing flowers. 



CHILLON. 145 

softly brushing their velvety cheeks, have died a\Yay, 
perhaps in "aromatic pain/^ and Flora, unlike her 
human sisters, betrays weariness in flaunting her gay 
colors in the summer air. 

A sweet hush has fallen upon nature, and in sym- 
pathy with her prevailing mood we quietly saunter 
along the pleasant country road to the castle, a half- 
mile distant from our hotel. Obtaining entrance, we 
first explore the depths of the famed fortress. In a 
large dungeon stands a pillar with chain affixed to its 
side by a heavy staple. To this the prisoner Bonni- 
vard had been attached, and here, like a chained beast, 
he had walked around as far as his chain would permit, 
until deep ruts had been worn into the hard clay floor. 
For six years had this patriotic soul borne this cruel 
martyrdom. How must its fine fibre have chafed 
against its iron fate ! and when restored to the city of 
his love, Geneva, for whose liberation from tyrannic 
rule he had fought before being conquered and thus 
imprisoned, one can imagine that no after-dream of 
happiness could efface the memory of this nightmare, 
of a night extending through long, weary years. The 
iron ring to which his chain was fastened remains in 
its original position, and the traces on the pillar caused 
by the grating of the chain are deeply marked. It is 
appalling to contemplate the goading, wearing friction 
on the heart and brain of this refined nature and noble 



146 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

spiritj and we wonder that he survived his frightful 
ordeal thirty-five years, during which lie was the object 
of the special regard of his grateful and admiring fel- 
low-citizens. Other dungeons, deeper, smaller, and 
darker still, are shown us, where criminals were con- 
signed to a living death. An aperture is pointed out 
lined with sharp knives, down which a victim would 
be thrust, his mutilated body finding its final rest in 
the waters of the lake at its base. Their beautiful 
blue has often been reddened thus with human blood, 
inhumanly sacrificed ; and although all earthly traces 
of such crime have long been washed away, yet not 
even its broad, deep currents can erase their eternal 
record. 

We see many apartments in the upper portion of the 
castle curious in their antiquity. The wooden ceilings, 
and the walls of the banqueting-room, covered with 
the painted emblems of the different Swiss Cantons. 
Here feasted and lived at times the dukes of Savoy, all 
unmindful of the groans of their wretched victims, 
which mingled with the sighing of the wind and the 
plashing of the waves around the castled rock. 

On leaving the grand old castle, which gives char- 
acter to all the landscape, we meet the peasantry re- 
turning to their homes after the day's toil in the 
hay-fields. They add much, as they ever do, to the 
view ; their homely attire, always brightened by a dash 



CHILLON. 147 

of color, is so piquant and quaint that we have learned 
to believe no picture of a country scene complete with- 
out its introduction. 

As we look toward the sky we see that the sweetness 
of the hour is there culminating. Th^ sun is nearing 
the western horizon ; its effulgence spreading over the 
heavens as we stand spell-bound before charms which 
light up our vision with dazzling splendor. The orb 
of day is like a great ball of fire, whose flames, catch- 
ing the clouds, spread the conflagration, until the sky 
is like a vast molten sea of glory. Flashes of radiant 
light spring from the grand centre, piercing with their 
golden shafts the billowy blue, darting through banks 
of roseate clouds, dissolving them into masses of shim- 
mering light and color. As we gaze, our souls filled 
with joy by the celestial beauty, clouds of pale azure, 
lined and fringed with burnished silver, melt little by 
little into the great canopy of gold and crimson, wdiich 
fill the whole firmament with splendor incomparable. 
From a distance come sailing on quiet, gray clouds, 
beautiful, because soft and fleecy, but as they glide 
into the gorgeous arena they are glorified by color, 
quickly girdled with silver, crowned with gold, and 
tinted with crimson. 

Upon a cerulean background suddenly there blos- 
soms a silvery star, or is it a jewel fallen from the dia- 
dem of the Invisible King? Its tiny rays shine from 



148 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

afarj as it modestly beams in the wake of the departed 
sun. 

Ah, if the outer walls of the Celestial City be so 
brilliant and radiant, so glowing with beauty, what 
must be the Heavenly Jerusalem itself f As we gaze 
we recall the words of the Great King : " Eye hath 
not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the 
heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for 
them that love him," 

We recognize the exquisite sentiment of the. Persian 
instinct which, in ignorance of " The True God," leads 
to the worship of so divine a symbol as the sun, typical 
in its power, in its marvellous light, and in its inde- 
scribable glory, of the Supreme Power, the Divine 
Illuminator, and the omnipotence of the Creator of 
the World. 



CHAPTER X. 

LAUSANNE— FREYBURG— LUCERNE— LAKE THUN— 
INTERLACHEN. 

LAUSANNE. 

Lausanne, on the north side of Lake Geneva, occu- 
pying a very elevated position, enjoys views remark- 
able for their extent and beauty. Ouchy, whose grand 
hotel attracts many visitors, lies below it on the very 
borders of the lake, and affords, in its nestling security, 
a pretty view to the town above. " Montbenon," the 
public promenade of Lausanne, is bordered with many 
trees of an age that the oldest inhabitant fails to com- 
pute, and of a size really prodigious. So carefully are 
they preserved by the town authorities that wide iroi\^ 
bands are made to encircle their gnarled trunks; the 
decay producing large fissures, arrested by a filling of 
plaster, which, as it becomes hard and smooth, resem- 
bles a tablet inserted in a wall, awaiting its inscription. 

From the terrace of Montbenon one enjoys a fine 
view of the lake sluggishly basking in the bright sun- 
light ; the slopes on the opposite shores beautiful with 

14!) 



150 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

spired villages, antique towers, spreading vineyards, 
and turreted villas. Sweeping along the horizon are 
the Piedmontese Alps, greeting their opposite neigh- 
bor, the Jnra range, their lofty heights rising above the 
clouds, which often in foamy masses repose below 
them ; sometimes enveloping themselves in a fleecy 
robe of blue mist, which, like the delicate drapery 
over a beautiful bust, only enhances the charms it 
affects to conceal. Many of the snowy peaks turn at 
night their whitened faces toward the moon, bjushing 
red ander the morning smiles of the rising sun as he 
goes forth to run his race. And when the sunlight 
crowns the mountain-tops and lights up the hill-sides, 
who can stand unmoved by the effects of its illumin- 
ating splendor ! 

In the heart of the town stands the Hotel Gibbon, 
formerly the residence of the famous historian of that 
name. Attached to it is the garden where he sat on a 
moonlight night in June, 1787, writing the final words 
of his history ; and he describes in his memoirs the 
thrilling emotions with Avhich he contemplated the 
completed work which 'was to immortalize his name. 

Our hotel is situated in the midst of a garden filled 
with fragrance and beauty. Within its enclosure is a 
cottage, occupied by the owner of the hotel and his 
aged w^ife. One evening she sat u]3on one of the rustic 
seats, amid the flowers she loved to cultivate, in pleasant 



FREYBURG. 151 

converse with some of the hotel guests. As tlie nine 
o'clock bell struck upon the evening air with its mel- 
low sound^ she arose, and, ])iddiiig her companions '^bon 
soir,^^ entered her little chalet. 

What consternation fell upon the household the next 
morning when the death of the dear old lady was 
announced ! She had just been found lying peacefully 
in the arms of death ; having passed away without the 
knowledge of her husband, wdio lay beside her. Her 
^' o^ood-nio^ht^' had been uttered amid the flowers of 
earthly growth, while the shadows of evening were 
deepening about her, but angels had whispered their 
"good-morning" in a brighter clime, amid perpetual 
bloom, where her feeble age was already transformed 
into immortal youtli. 

Judge of the astonishment created by seeing through 
the open windows, two hours later, the freshly-made 
widower pruning the plants ! The ladies very natu- 
rally resented the cruel indignity laid upon one of their 
sex, until some kindly disposed person suggested that 
he was probably paying respect to his late wife's mem- 
ory by bestowing upon the flowers she loved the tender 
care which had been her daily pleasure. 

FREYBURG. 

Freyburg occupies an elevated and very picturesque 
situation, containing besides its organ several other 



J 52 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

attractions. From a balcony in the rear of oiir hotel 
we look upon a deep ravine spanned by a suspension 
bridge which is considered a triumph of mechanical 
skill ; the wire chains which support it are fastened to 
rocks on each side instead of pillars. Another very 
fine suspension bridge crosses the river Saarine; it is 
supported by four chains, which form a single arch. A 
drive over the two bridges to the suburbs of the town 
richly rewards us^ by pretty views obtained of the 
winding river and of the town from higher poijits. 

The tourist is always expected to visit the famous 
lime-tree in front of Council Hall. Tradition tells us 
that after the battle at Morat in 1476, a young man, 
native of Freyburg, rushed breathless and exhausted 
into the town announcing the victory. The word 
" victory" was all he could command strength to utter, 
expiring soon after. In his hand he had borne a twig, 
which was planted, and having grown into a tree of 
mammoth size, fourteen feet in circumference, is an 
object of the special regard and watchful care of the 
citizens and of curiosity to strangers. Its branches are 
supported by pillars, a wooden fence being built around 
it, with seats for garrulous old age, and as a trysting- 
place for village lovers. 

In the Cathedral of St. Nicholas is the organ to 
which the town is indebted for its influx of visitors. 
It is considered one of the finest in Europe, and with 



FREYBURG. 153 

its sixty-seven stops and seven thousand eight hundred 
pipes, some of them thirty-three feet long, requires a 
masterly hand to perform upon it. 

Wending our way to the Cathedral at eight o'clock, 
we find it enshrouded in partial darkness, being but 
feebly illuminated by one light "dimly burning." 
This is most agreeable, the effect of the music being 
much more impressive than if the glare of daylight 
shone about us. It is a weird scene. By the obscure 
light we can faintly discern a few human figures scat- 
tered through the pews ; occasionally a solitary person 
will steal noiselessly in, and, gliding through the shad- 
ows, drop into a distant seat. Gloom lurks in all the 
corners of the great church, the pictures and altar 
decorations looking ghastly in the feeble glimmer; 
while we sit as if in preparation for some inquisitorial 
business, a funereal silence settling upon the meagre 
assembly composed of about fifteen persons. We begin 
to be " scared with visions," and instinctively nestle a 
little nearer our companions, when suddenly the air, 
it seems the universe, is filled with sound, overwhelm- 
ing, grand, magnificent ! We are borne along on its 
deep, rapid current, breathless with a delight mingled 
with awe, when gradually, almost insensibly, we are 
guided into gentler ways, on the bosom of calmer seas, 
the lulling sound of the rippling waters exquisitely at- 
tuned to the tenderest feeling. 



1 54 WANDERING TIIO UGH TS. 

Now comes the imitation of storm, chaos, — perhaps 
an intimation of the final destruction. The muttering 
of distant thunder swells into a great clamor, rush- 
ing nearer, with the rattling of heaven's artillery, 
the crashing of the elements, until we almost cower 
under the power of sound. And yet this same instru- 
ment, obedient to the conquering hand of the gifted 
performer, can breathe in tones so mild as would not 
disturb an infant's sleep, and so sweet as would lap 
it into deeper slumber by the most ethereal notes. 
The vast organ which belches torrents of wrath and 
power, and breathes gentlest whisperings of joy and 
love with equal ease, seems possessed with a grand 
soul ; at times torn with the force of its human pas- 
sions, and again imbued with a divine tenderness and 
peace. The most wonderful of its achievements is its 
imitation of the human voice. With one hand the 
accompaniment is played, while the simulation of 
vocal strains is produced with the other. The eifect 
is most remarkable. The magic voice seems to be 
wafted to our entranced ears tlirough misty space, 
ascending the scale to highest notes, filling the air and. 
soul with delicious melody, as descending it melts into 
the sweetest whisper. 



LUCERNE. 155 



LUCERNE. 



The ride by rail from Freyburg to Lucerne is made 
enjoyable by the beauty of the panoramic views of 
the landscapes, which, shifting rapidly, seem as fleeting 
as pleasing dreams. The day is in the dew of its 
youth. We delight in the hour, — 'tis early morn, — for 
Dame Nature as seen in her maturity at mid-day is 
less charming than in the freshness of her youth in 
the morning. The birds in their elevated choirs are 
holding their morning service of song ; it seems to be 
nature's bridal hour, for she is timidly waiting in fresh 
and sweet array to receive the kiss of the bridegroom as 
he comes forth like a strong man from his chamber of 
the clouds. On her face are the beautiful dew-drops, 
which glitter as his radiant glances beam upon her. 
Sweet shadows, at first, hang about her, but are dispelled 
by the nearer approach of his warm, bright presence. 
Now, indeed, all is sunlight and joy, and we who wit- 
ness this tender meeting think that men might well 
imitate the wooing of this stately sun of the morning ! 

The sweet burden of new-mown meadows exhales 
its perfume, rising like incense to the sun ; fields of 
ripening corn give pleasing signs of plenty ; in pretty 
pastures of rich green the clumsy kine feed lazily. 
Brightening the view are acres of wheat, whose golden 
surface is exquisitely relieved by the scarlet pop})y. 



156 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

which is here so abundantly scattered through it. The 
faint breeze of a summer's day gently breathes upon 
the rippling treasure, blending the colors into one. 
The hum of many insects gives a soporific influence 
to the air. The sunlight is now spread broadcast over 
the landscape, sparkling streams saucily flashing back 
its glances. Women in their quaint costume, as seen 
in the distance, deftly wielding the hoe or turning the 
odorous hay to the warm rays of the sun, add to the 
picturesqueness of the view. Many of the- billowy 
mountains along the horizon are robed in snowy white, 
emblematic of the purity above them ; modest valleys, 
where nestle many vine-clad cottages, their attractive 
loveliness resurrecting memories of the girlish dreams 
of long ago, when the sentiment, 

" Give me a cot 
In the valley I love," 

filled the imagination. 

Ah, that charm which brings tears to the eyes must 
be of sacred beauty ; and we feel that the influences 
of such revelations as nature has made to us this day 
must stimulate, even develop, the finest emotions of our 
natures. 

The great attraction of Lucerne consists in the pe- 
culiar advantages of its position. It is situated on the 
river Reuss^ as it emerges from Lake Lucerne, which is 



LUCERNE. 157 

spread oat before \t, with Mont Pilatus on the right 
and the Rigi in front. Lake Lucerne is considered the 
most beautiful of all the Swiss lakes, and is the more 
attractive from its irregularity. Taking the steamer, 
we traverse the entire length of the lake, finding great 
enjoyment in its diversity of scenery. Clustering 
around the base of the Rigi are sunny gardens abound- 
ing in fruit-trees, pretty cottages interspersed among 
them, with shady woods and green pastures on the 
higher slopes. On the opposite side of the lake is 
Mont Pilatus, which forms in its dark, frowning pres- 
ence a strong contrast to the brighter aspects of the 
Rigi ; but to these antipodal effects much grandeur and 
beauty are attributable. Indeed, the mind of man de- 
mands variety of objects and character to gratify its 
every phase of taste and feeling; and to antagonistic 
influences, and to the varied forms of scenery, do we 
owe that pleasure which arises from the exercise of our 
reasoning faculties, and from the contrast of the simple 
with the grand ; the pretty, bright, and picturesque 
with the magnificent, the imposing, and the sublime. 
\ Our patriotism having taken on new fervor during 
absence from our native land, we feel, as we near TelFs- 
platte, a sympathetic interest in the associations of the 
spot which the Swiss people hold sacred, as connected 
with memories of their ancient hero and liberator. 
Whether mythical or not, the reminiscences are a nucleus 



158 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

for the patriotic thought and feeling, which burn with 
such vivid flame in the public heart of the staunch little 
Republic ; and his name is a talisman against any 
treasonable sentiment or act. The spot upon which 
we gaze with such lively attention is one where the 
Chapel of Tell stands. This was erected by the Can- 
ton of Uri, it is said, in 1388 to commemorate the 
escape of the patriot from Gesler's boat, but it is evi- 
dently of more modern date. On the Sabbath following 
Ascension-day, mass is performed here, great numbers 
attending in boats, gayly decorated, to hear the patriotic 
sermon which is always preached on that occasion. 
The sentiment inculcated is so noble a one, that we 
would have it fostered by these yearly ceremonies, be- 
lieving this man, whose patriotic memory they half 
"ignorantly worship,' ' to be the embodiment of one of 
the grandest passions of the soul, and so, worthy of their 
enthusiastic devotion. 

As we approach the terminus of the lake the moun- 
tains assume most imposing grandeur, as if to leave 
upon all minds an impression of august dignity. On 
returning to our hotel at Lucerne, we renew our former 
pleasures amid scenes less impressive, but sunnier. 
Perhaps with the thought of nearing the skies, the 
better to enjoy the Sabbath observances, we cross the 
lake and, taking a carriage, reach by a good road the 
large hotel built on the Burgenstock, some two thousand 



LUCERNE. 159 

six hundred feet above the sea-level. The view of the 
lake, and of the mountain kings enthroned above it, is 
superb. In very pretty woods adjoining the hotel, by 
paths easily climbed, we attain to greater heights, and, 
through vistas skilfully arranged, obtain glimpses of 
several lakes, vast mountain peaks and distant ranges, 
with the gem of all the adjacent waters, Lake Lucerne, 
gracefully curling in and out below and beyond us. 

The air is deliciously fresh, suggestive of health, 
strength, and buoyant life. The views are something 
ever to remember, for it is our faith that impressions 
of beauty and grandeur imprinted upon the eye are 
caught by the spirit, and ere lost or faded are engraved 
upon the tablets of memory, and often incorporated 
into the moral character, elevating it above the paltry 
objects of the lower world by introducing it to the 
higher influences of nature in her exalted phases. 

Seated on a balcony overhanging the lake, we can 
look upon the waters of Lakes Zug and Sempach. 
Mont Pilatus, its face generally clouded, scowls down 
upon the sweet landscape, unmindful that the lake be- 
low reflects its frown ; while the R-igi, with more femi- 
nine proportions, — and disposition too, shall we say ? — 
casts brighter glances around, and lit up with smiles, 
reflected from peak to peak, vainly strives to propitiate 
its neighbor, who is enshrouded in almost perpetual 
gloom. The lights of the distant town throw their 



160 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

quivering rays athwart the waters, the moon vying 
w^ith them in illuminating the scene ; lighting up 
rugged mountain crags; throwing a veil of silvery 
sheen over the broad face of the lake; bringing out in 
bold relief the little boats idly floating on its surface; 
and concealing by its modest light defects which the 
sun wantonly reveals. By its hallowed beams it clothes 
all visible objects with sacred beauty, investing even 
the most prosaic with a spiritual or poetic beauty. 

What wonder, amid such enchantment, if a gossiping 
breeze bears to our ears the tones of love? Glancing 
at the foreign faces on every side, we bethink us wdiat 
an accomplished little urchin is Cupid, who whispers 
in every known and unknown tongue ! And how won- 
derfully preserved is his youth, remembering that he 
was a contemporary even of Adam and Eve ! playing 
as mischievous a role in the lives of the antediluvians 
as now, when in wanton glee he toys with his pretty 
weapoDj piercing with magic arrow maidens' hearts; 
sharpening it anew to penetrate the more obdurate 
organ of the sterner sex ! 

The following morning, summoning the courage upon 
which heavy drafts have already been made, we enter 
the car to ascend the Rigi. As the passengers sit with 
their backs toward the front of the car, the sensation 
might be unpleasant to some, but we think the op- 
portunity for enjoying the view better in that position 



LUCERNE. 161 

than in the ordinary one. As usual, our ambition soars 
to the highest point. We are ticketed for the Eigi- 
Kulm, the highest peak, five thousand nine hundred 
feet above the sea-level. Losing all sense of fear, we 
surrender ourselves to enjoyment, each moment unfold- 
ing to our view some new feature of delight and won- 
der. Arrived at the hotel, we lose no time in exploring 
the locality. It is remarkable for its breadth of vision, 
and for the confusing number and variety of objects 
comprehended in the view. The sunset is a disappoint- 
ment, foreboding a foggy morrow, and so, although 
scarcely daring to pray for a clear sunrise, we wish for 
it, as to see the great king of day as he emerges from 
his couch of clouds and enters the sky — the vast 
audience-chamber of the world — is the prime object of 
the trip. 

We retire early, doubtful of the morrow's prospects. 
Humming the familiar lines, 

" Watchman, tell us of the night, 
"What its signs of promise are," 

the thought and wish blend with our dreams, and we 
sleep until the Alpine horn sounds the noisy reveille 
at three o'clock in the morning. 

Dressed as we are, for we had not ventured to go 
literally " to bed," we throw shawls and cloaks about 
us and join the sleepy, murmuring crowd which, issuing 



162 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

from every corridor^ is flocking to the grand rendez- 
vous, a hill in rear of the hotel. Alas ! alas ! we are 
quickly enveloped in fog and cloud, typical of the con- 
dition of the sun, who, although so many are awaiting 
his coming, fails to indicate even his whereabouts. 

Disconsolate, tired, sleepy, and bedraggled with dew, 
we return to the hotel, and a few hours later, amid a 
violent rain-storm, descend the mount. 

The grand artistic treasure of Lucerne is "The Lion," 
executed in 1821, in memory of the massacred Swiss 
Guard of twenty-six officers and seven hundred and 
sixty soldiers who fell in defence of the Tuileries, August 
10, 1792. A vociferous mob surrounded the palace, 
and, refusing to disperse, was fired upon by the Guard. 
The people, believing that the firing had been ordered 
by the king, maddened by fury, forced an entrance into 
the palace and murdered all found within it. 

The dying lion is represented as endeavoring still to 
protect the shield of France, one huge paw covering it. 
The figure is colossal,— -twenty-eight feet by eighteen. 
Transfixed by a broken spear, it half reclines in the 
agonies of death, reminding us of its representative 
human counterpart, — the dying gladiator at Rome. 
The Lion, modelled by the Danish sculptor, Thorwald- 
sen, is grand in conception and masterly in execution. 
It is hewn out of the face of an immense sandstone 
rock ; at the base of which are the dark waters of a 



LAKE TUUN. 1(33 

small pond fed from a spring which flows down by the 
side of the rock. Dense shrubbery adds to the gloom 
of the death-scene. It is a striking spectacle, and in 
every particular testifies to the rare cunning of the 
artistic brain and hand. The face expresses, with 
almost human fidelity, physical anguish and piteous 
distress. Looking upon the monster in his quiet agony, 
one is deeply impressed by its representation of what is 
rarely seen, — the sublimity of suffering, 

LAKE THUN. 

Lake Thun, while it boasts of no remarkable feature, 
is certainly a little gem among the more stately waters 
of a country that abounds in natural attractions of 
lakes, mountains, and glaciers. 

We wonder not that the Swiss are possessed, as a 
people, of those virtues which distinguish the highest 
moral character. Universally industrious and honest, 
proverbially patriotic, domestic, simple, and chaste in 
their lives, w^e discover the origin of this innate excel- 
lence in their peculiar surroundings. Surely the cli- 
mate and the formation of a country, particularly if 
its landscapes abound in striking features, must exert 
a marked influence upon the tastes, the nature, and the 
character of its people. Could a man environed by 
lofty mountains, dazzling heights, and glittering glaciers 
be the same as one living upon unbroken plains, feed- 



164 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ing his breath from the stilly sluggish air that steals 
over them? Must not his whole organism differ from 
one whose first breath, even, is drawn from the clear, 
bracing winds that come sweeping down from the 
lofty peaks; whose eyes ever rest upon the sublime 
in nature? JSTor would it be strange if his soul 
should assume the purity of which the perpetual 
snow and ice are symbolical : " Chaste as ice and 
pure as snow." 

The banks of Lake Thun are for some c|istance 
thickly studded with ornamental villas, many of them 
very elegant, surrounded by dense and very beautiful 
growths of shrubs and flowers ; their gardens sloping 
down to the water's edge, add beauty to a view to 
which the surrounding mountains impart the elements 
of grandeur. Many pretty villages dot the banks, 
their vineyards covering the hill-sides; and occasionally 
an ancient and picturesque chateau and little churches, 
whose modest spires point the thought to heaven. In- 
deed, this lake Avith its pretty bordering banks seems to 
us like a little poem set to music, so smooth and rhyth- 
mical in its flow ; so harmonious in its parts ; so sug- 
gestive of beautiful thought; so full of delicate pic- 
tures of life in its sweetest form, without its rude, 
rough prose. Lambs gambolling in green pastures; 
little churches where the manly youth and gentle 
maiden plight their troth ; and beautiful hills whose 



INTERLA CHEN. 165 

tops are Pisgahs where they may read their happy 
future, as typified in the graceful, sunny landscape that 
lies before them. 

A slight shower compels a temporary withdrawing 
to the salon below, but on emerging again, the atten- 
tion of all is attracted toward a rainbow which half 
spans the lake. It is unusually defined in form and 
vivid in color. At this moment we are nearing the 
narrow portion of the lake, and are apparently about 
to pass under the bow of promise in the clouds. 
"Oh,'^ we exclaim, "if it would only extend and 
completely span the lake, it would be like a triumphal 
arch to pass under !'^ The words are scarcely uttered 
ere the heavenly artist has traced with divine touch 
the other half, so that the bow literally stretches from 
one side of the lake to the other, the extreme points 
seeming to touch the earth on either side. A universal 
exclamation of rapturous delight bursts from the lips 
of all the passengers, who have flocked to the bow of 
the boat to witness the renewal of the covenant made 
with Noah : *^ I do set my bow in the cloud, and it 
shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the 
earth.'' 

INTERLA CHEN. 

Arrived at Interlachen, we find our "lines have 
been cast" in one of the most delightful spots in 
Switzerland. The village is situated in a valley formed 



IQQ WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

between the two lakes of Thun and Brienz, which are 
00 the east and west of it, the valley of the Lauter- 
briinnen lying toward the south. The principal street, 
or avenue, is the Hoheweg, bordered on both sides by 
large walnut-trees. The many Iiotels which line one 
side of tliis fine avenue vie with each other in floral 
display. One walks through a miniature Eden before 
entering their doors, and all within is made very in- 
viting. The windows of our rooms look upon the 
"Jungfrau," which in dazzling robe of snow is a 
fascinating object for all eyes. As its name signifies 
" virgin,^^ we must try to realize its femininity. Al- 
though arrayed in trailing robe of white, spangled by 
the sun's rays, and often wearing a bridal-like veil of 
fleecy clouds, yet despite this glamour and the silence 
she maintains as to her age, — like many human spinsters, 
—we recognize her to be a very ancient maiden. She is 
of Amazonian proportions, the fourth among the Swiss 
and the eighth among European mountains, thirteen 
thousand seven hundred feet above the level of the sea. 

A drive to Grindelwald is full of delight; here, 
after dining, we mount mules and proceed to the gla- 
ciers. In one a grotto has been hewn. We enter it 
to enjoy the better its exquisite transparency and color 
of emerald, but meet with such a cold reception as 
compels us to retire hastily. 

Another interesting excursion is by carriage through 



INTERLACHEN. 167 

the Lauterbrunnen Yalley, or it might properly be 
styled a ravine, bordered on both sides by immense 
precipitous rocks from one thousand to fifteen hundred 
feet high. Numerous springs suggest its name. The fer- 
tile valley is sheltered by the gigantic rocks, shaded by 
many trees, and made fresh and sparkling by its many 
cascades falling from the heights above. The principal 
one is called the Staubbach, — dust-brook. Its source is 
comparatively insignificant, being simply a brook ; but 
its fall of nine hundred and eighty feet gives it an ex- 
aggerated appearance of volume, gaining dignity from 
height and distance. It descends at first impetuously, 
but when the wind catches the w^ater, scatters, spreads, 
divides, and subdivides it, carrying it whither it will, 
flinging it into fantastic shapes, weaving it into a wav- 
ing, transparent, silvery veil, we look upon it with in- 
tense pleasure. It is a pretty plaything for the breezes, 
and through their wand is tossed into its many forms 
of beauty. Often when the sunshine sports with it 
and glimmers through its radiant drops it is further 
beautified by rainbows. 



CHAPTER XL 

MUNICH— CARLSBAD. 
MUNICH. 

Munich, the capital of Bavaria, lies in a plain, and 
is built upon both sides of the Iser. It is considered 
one of the handsomest cities in Germany, ranking as 
the fourth in population. We are delighted with not 
only its fine, broad, open streets ; its squares, monu- 
ments, and its bright, inviting appearance ; but with 
the galleries abounding in artistic wealth ; its Palace, 
w^hich, although of unpretending exterior, is truly 
magnificent within ; and in the numberless facilities 
offered for pleasure, to secure which, is the tourist's 
avowed purpose. Indeed, it is difficult to find a "con- 
venient season'^ to leave it ; and beginning after a few 
days to suspect that it is the country of the Lotus-plant, 
which is said to have the effect of obliterating from the 
mind all longings for native land, and of rendering 
departure very difficult, we follow the example of 
Ulysses in a similar emergency, and drag ourselves 
168 



MUNICH. 169 

away to other cities, who, siren-like, are wooing us on 
to an enjoyment of their pleasures. Meanwhile, what 
throngs of mio^ratino; travellers arrive ! Excitement 
and bustle are constantly agitating the air and scene 
until our hotel, crowded to its utmost capacity, is 
obliged to close its doors against new-comers. Our 
hotel is admirably situated upon one of the finest 
streets, whose gay, moving crowds aiFord material for 
pleasant contemplation. At eventide, particularly, the 
panorama is an animated and brilliant one. The Ger- 
man husband and wife, with their children, dressed in 
gala costume, sally forth to spend an enjoyable hour or 
so at the beer- gardens, which are popular institu- 
tions in this country. Travellers contribute another 
element to the throng and to the babel of tongues. 
The military, of whom there are about twenty-five 
thousand in the city, by their jaunty manner, the gay 
colors of their uniforms, and the inspiriting ring of 
their rattling swords, form a conspicuous feature of the 
scene. We have always found that a mingling of the 
military in a crowd is very effective and exhilarating. 
The flashing in and out of their gaudy colors amid the 
more sombre hues of the civilians' dress ; the imposing 
epaulets and other showy decorations, glittering even 
in the dusk of evening, and, above all, the perpetual 
ringing of swords, give a spirited tone to an occasion 
otherwise tame and ordinary. There are evidently 



170 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

many epaiiletted Lotharios circulating in the crowd, 
waiting to be caught by some feminine hoolc, needing 
no other bait than pretty, inviting eyes. 

In visiting the Palace, we are lost in a perfect maze 
of splendor. Full of art-treasures, our eyes are yet 
diverted to other objects, such as the bed in one of the 
royal chambers, whose draperies cost the almost incred- 
ible sum of eighty thousand pounds ! They are of 
brocade, entirely covered with hand-wrought embroid- 
ery in pure gold thread. The needle-work is wonder- 
fully done, and the gold employed in its manufacture 
of fabulous amount, as it almost conceals the ground- 
work of the material. Other rooms abound in costly 
ornaments and chandeliers, rare pictures, porcelain, 
paintings, and in frescoes, which form an illustrated 
history of the past, introducing characters and depict- 
ing the prominent events in the history of the Bavarian 
Kingdom. We know of no palace that excels this in 
richness of treasure and in the showiness of its appoint- 
ments. The Throne Hall, the last of the seemingly 
endless suite of royal apartments, is one hundred and 
six feet long, and seventy-three wide. On each side 
are ten pillars of white marble in the Corinthian style, 
which, surmounted by gilded capitals, support the 
galleries. Between the columns are twelve statues rep- 
resenting princes of the houses of Wittelbach in gilded 
bronze. Each statue weighs about one and a half tons. 



' MUNICH. 171 

Wisliino; to witness the effect of the whole rano;e of 
salons, we mount the steps leading to the throne, which 
stands opposite the open doors, commanding a view^ ex- 
tending six hundred and fifty-six feet beyond ! The 
custodian, probably recognizing our nationality, and 
seeing that we do not aspire to the throne itself, as 
some royal neighbors have done in times past, offers 
no resistance. Each apartment being grand in itself, 
the effect of all, as seen instantaneously, can be but 
faintly imagined. 

In the suburbs of the city, on a hill, stands a colossal 
bronze statue, representing the Protectress of Bavaria, 
with a lion at her side. It is elevated upon a platform, 
on which rests the pedestal ; the two equal the height 
of the statue, which is sixty-one and a half feet high. 
Entering the figure, we see a flight of iron steps, sixty- 
six in number, which leads through the pedestal to the 
knees. Now appears a narrow spiral staircase which 
terminates at the head, within which are seats for any 
eight persons who have the courage to ascend thus far. 
Becoming almost stifled with the heat, a little fright- 
ened by the contracted space, and dizzy with the 
height, we turn on reaching the chest, and contrive 
to regain terra firma intact. Others of the party, how- 
ever, venture to the apex, enjoying the extended view 
through the mammoth eyes of the statue. Does not 
Shakspeare exclaim, "How bitter a thing it is to look 



172 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

into happiness through another man's eyes"? This 
is a woman ; a fact which may, however, add to the 
beauty, because seen through the feminine medium. 

The " English Garden'^ is one of the most pleasing 
of parks, and indeed we find in almost every city a 
common breathing-place for the people, such as inflates 
the public lungs with the purest air, scented with the 
freshest fragrance from living flowers; emerald lawns; 
fountains whose crystal sprays, when entangled in the 
sunbeams, rain illuminated drops, like opals,, far and 
wide; temples, pavilions, and towers, all pretty con- 
ceits of architecture in its light and playful mood; and 
trees that, inanimate as they are, suggest to human 
minds native dignity, nobility, and firm endurance. 

This Bavarian city owes much of its improvements 
and embellishments to King Ludwig L, who was a 
special patron of art in its varied forms of architecture, 
sculpture, and painting. He helped materially to make 
Munich the inviting city it is in beauty and in manifold 
fascinations. 

How strange it is that one whose soul is animated 
with quick perceptions of the elevated and beautiful ; 
whose ideas assume sesthetic forms ; whose thoughts 
wander in the realm of harmony, art, and lovely ideals; 
whose longings go out toward the graceful, the grand, 
and the artistic ; — how strange, we think, that such a 
soul should fail to possess in its moral instincts a corre- 



CARLSBAD. 173 

sponding delicacy of thought and sentiment ; that he who 
was so keenly awake to the beauty of art, to its purity of 
conceptioii, and to its faultless symmetrical expression 
should foster in the same soul the germ of impurity, 
permitting it to ripen through gross indulgence ! 

We remember, then, with mingled surprise and 
regret, that Ludvvig I., to whom the Bavarian capital, 
and through it, the travelled world, are indebted for an 
abundant ministry to their cultured, aesthetic tastes by 
grand architecture, superb paintings, and sculptured 
monuments, was, through his vices and follies, which 
disgraced even his old age, compelled by a disgusted 
people to abdicate in favor of his son. 

CAELSBAD. 

There are many places at which the traveller touches 
that seem, like certain human characters, to be so ex- 
uberant with life, so bright, cheery, and sunny, that one 
gladly seeks them and lingers in their proximity, hoping 
to absorb a portion of their surplus joyousness. These 
are great light-centres which we approach with eager- 
ness and hover near through an irresistible attraction ; 
and so susceptible is our spiritual nature that we are 
deeply impressed by these influences, and so absorbent, 
too, that we can scarcely fail to bear away with us a 
supply of acquired stimulation, which only disappears 
gradually from the receptive store-house of our mind. 



174 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Such a spot is Carlsbad, one of the most famous water- 
ing-places in Germany; its springs among the most 
celebrated in the world. The town is situated very 
prettily in a deep valley of the river Tepl, and is very 
enticing in its suburbs, affording beautiful drives and 
embracing very fine views. The really providential 
discovery of these springs was made, according to the 
tradition of the country, in a very singular manner. 
Although known in the seventh century, they were 
forgotten, or not utilized, until the year 1358, when 
Charles IV., while hunting one day, hearing the piteous 
cries of one of his hounds, discovered him in a hot 
spring, where he had fallen while pursuing game. The 
king's physician suggested his trying the waters with 
the hope of obtaining relief for a disorder in his foot. 
The malady disappearing upon repeated applications, the 
fame of the springs was established, their waters from 
that time being devoted "to the healing of the nations." 
They were called after their royal discoverer, the name 
Carlsbad signifying " Charles's bath." Their tempera- 
ture varying from one hundred and seventeen to one 
hundred and sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, they are 
the hottest springs in Europe. The Sprudel, the hot- 
test of the nine, rises with great volume three feet high, 
and makes the atmosphere around it uncomfortable by 
its steam and heat. 

Leaving our hotel at one end of the valley, we saunter 



CARLSBAD. 175 

down the street and mingle in a scene full of brilliancy 
and animation. Although the natural surroundings 
and the situation of the sequestered village are very 
romantic, — its buildings clustering in a deep ravine or 
valley, penetrated by a river with one small bridge of 
one pretty arch ; hills overshadowing it and most um- 
brageous trees embowering its streets, — yet we think the 
fascination is vested in its extreme phase of social life. 
The broad street lined with hotels is swarming with 
life as gay, as happy as we have ever seen, the very 
air is murmurous with voices, all in their lightest tones. 
No duty harassing, no haste visible on the faces or in 
the manner of the brilliant dames, sparkling youths, and 
fashionable men who throng the street. Life here, 
apparently, has no duties. Elegant leisure rules the 
hour. Hundreds of chairs outside the cafes all filled 
with bright chatterers; music drowning in deeper 
melody the minor notes of the human voice ; verdure 
abounding, and flowers, as if jealous of the tinted cheeks 
and rosy lips on every side, wave their bright banners 
yet more gayly in the sunny breeze. Open bazaars dis- 
play gorgeous ornaments and gems; all is gay bustle and 
pleasant confusion. It would be difficult for any sober 
stay-at-home American who, if he drinks, does it pri- 
vately, and when he eats sits within-doors, to imagine 
polished men and refined, but fashionable, women 
sitting out on the public thoroughfare flirting, laughing, 



176 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

and talking over brimming, sparkling glasses of foam- 
ing beer, drinking even deeper draughts of worldly 
pleasure. 

The scene is dazzling and full of effervescing spirit. 
No hint is there of sickness, poverty, or death. If such 
thoughts intrude they seem vagaries of the brain, and 
flit by, untenacious, amid such a whirl of idle, although 
innocent, dissipation. 

The sweetest pleasure often awaits one when, after 
taking a carriage and lolling back luxuriously j-an utter 
surrender is made of every faculty to the ephemeral 
influences of the hour. And yet no, not ephemeral, 
for when the soul revels in a joy fed by the purest 
fountains of nature, catching the brightness of the sun- 
beams; fancy borrowing the celestial blue of the sky in 
which to paint her thought; the breezes perhaps stimu- 
lating into fresher exercise those servants of the brain, 
unfettered imagination, dreamy revery, and iale phan- 
tasy, memory, jealous of its prerogative, hastens to assert 
it, and records with diamond point, upon her imperish- 
able tablets, moments thus spent in richest pleasure. 
We are sure that with ineffaceable touch she will record 
the sweet experiences of this summer afternoon, when 
the "gods'' so fill the hour, that when it closes we shall 
not exclaim, " Behold, an hour of our life is gone," but 
rather, " We have lived an hour !" 

We approach a wood and penetrate its beautiful 



CARLSBAD. 177 

vistas, meeting many of the gay denizens of the little 
village we have left, who, with their sparkling gems, 
are lighting up, as with stars, the shady bowers of the 
grove; appearing, with their bright dresses, like varie- 
gated flowers amid the waving grass. Great cafes 
embowered in green are tempting the saunterers, and 
music arises from all parts of the extensive grove. On 
we drive through miles of beauty, catching glimpses 
occasionally of 'Miills peeping o'er hills," and of the far- 
away glory of the radiant sky above and around them, 
until we reach a large manufactory, where our eyes are 
delighted, and the purses of many are depleted, by the 
tempting display of exquisite porcelain. 



CHAPTER XIL 

BERLIN— POTSDAM— NUREMBERG. 

BEELIN. 

Berlix is one of the most brilliant of European 
cities. Its finest street, Unter den Linden, is really mag- 
nificent in width, foliage, imposing palaces, fine hotels, 
and showy stores. It is fifty-three feet wide, with a 
double row of lime-trees, to which it owes its name. 
Several years since, the trees which bordered this grand 
boulevard were the pride of the city ; but the com- 
paratively recent introduction of the gas-pipes injured 
them to such a degree that gradually one after another 
died, being immediately replaced by younger and 
smaller ones. We hear many regrets expressed that 
the grand old trees have yielded to the blighting effects 
of modern improvements, and that so long a time 
must elapse before their successors can win an equal 
reputation for size and beauty. The Unter den Lin- 
den extends to the Brandenburg Gate, which is sur- 
mounted by a chariot drawn by four horses, in which 
a figure symbolizing "Victory" is seated. The chariot 
178 



BERLIN. 179 

was taken to Paris by the French in 1807, but was 
recovered after the battle of Waterloo in 1814. 

The streets of Berlin, grand in their width, regu- 
larity, and architectural buildings, are further embel- 
lished with numberless monuments and statues of mili- 
tary heroes and the great iu science and art. The eques- 
trian statue of Frederick the Great at the east end of 
the Linden is universally conceded to be the finest 
monument of its kind in Europe. While the main 
purpose has been to commemorate the greatness of the 
^' great" king, and to testify to a nation's enduring 
remembrance, yet he is made the nucleus of much 
subordinate distinction, many of the celebrated char- 
acters of his reign having a niche for a sculptured 
tribute in the sections of the pedestal. The founda- 
tion-stone of this magnificent memorial was laid on 
May 31, 1840, the one hundredth anniversary of 
Frederick's accession to the Prussian throne; its in- 
auguration taking place in 1851. That kingdoms are 
not always forgetful and ungrateful, is proven by this 
superb tribute to the unselfish patriotism of a man 
who sought in every way to secure the aggrandizement 
of his native land, making his remarkable genius 
tributary to its advancement and power. 

The vanity and pride of the people are perpetually 
fed by a conspicuous reminder of their military prowess 
in the dazzling and splendid monument of " A^ictory" 



180 WANDERISG THOUGHTS. 

in the centre of Konig's-Platz. It stands one hundred 
and ninety-eight feet high ; the square pedestal is cov- 
ered with reliefs in bronze, celebrating early victories 
and those of 1870-71 : on the north, the battle of 
Koniggriitz; on the east side, the Danish war of 1864; 
on the west, the battle of Sedan, 1870; and on the 
south, the return of the troops, 1871. A few steps 
higher is the "Hall of Victory," encircled by Doric 
columns. From this hall ascends a pillar of sandstone, 
in the flutings of which are placed three rows of Danish, 
Austrian, and French cannon. The summit consists of 
a figure gorgeously gilt, forty -two feet high. 

The palace occupied by the present Emperor is re- 
markably unostentatious in its dimensions and appear- 
ance externally; but the Royal Palace or Schloss, time- 
honored, having been founded as a fortress in 1443, 
was completed, after various intervening changes, in 
1716, and is now principally used on festive occasions 
and in entertaining royal guests. The palace contains 
six hundred apartments, only a few representative ones 
being shown. In the Throne-Room is an immense buffet 
covered with gold plate. Near this is a large orna- 
mental beer-barrel with silver faucet and trimmings, 
provided for the king Frederick William I., father of 
Frederick the Great, whose royal thirst was so excess- 
ive that it must be thus liberally provided for. We 
think if he could only have imbibed more freely of the 



BERLIN. 181 

" milk of human kindness," the life of his illustrious 
son would have been a happier one. A magnificent 
chandelier of rock-crystal, suspended in the same apart- 
ment, is the one under which Martin Luther is said to 
have stood when he made his famous defence at Worms. 
It was subsequently purchased and transferred to the 
Berlin Palace. We look upon the silent, unconscious 
witness of the heroic man's trial with intense interest ; 
recalling his words when urged to fly the danger 
thought to be waiting him at Worms : " Though there 
are as many devils in Worms as tiles upon the house- 
tops, I will enter it.'' Intrepid soul ! and so he did ; 
and before a tribunal of three hundred inimical judges 
— the Emperor and his nobility — he argued, as did Paul 
before Felix, "reasoning of righteousness;" vindicating, 
through the Scriptures, the justness of his opinions and 
the glory of his faith ; and, guarded by ministering 
angels, like Paul, he was allowed to go his '^ way for 
this time," 

On we wander, through salons glittering in gold and 
silver decorations and in satin brocades a hundred years 
old ; our eyes gratified by pictures, portraits of cele- 
brated men, statues of Carrara marble, and frescoes of 
great beauty. Our delight culminates in the wonderful 
dimensions and chaste ornamentation of the " White 
Hall," — the largest room in the palace, one hundred 
and eight feet long and fifty-one wide, — hung with 



182 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

sparkling crystal chandeliers, and adorned with marble 
statueSj among which is an exquisite figure of "Vic- 
tory/' by Ranch. 

The Royal Chapel contains a crucifix of silver, seven 
feet in height, set with precious stones and valued at 
eighty thousand pounds. The altar also invites inspec- 
tion, being of alabaster, a present from Mehemet Ali, 
Viceroy of Egypt. 

Driving through the streets to the depot, on leaving 
Berlin, we pass by a plain, substantial mansion, stand- 
ing back from the street, with a pleasant yard in front, 
filled with massive groups of green shrubbery. It 
wears an air of eminent respectability, of solid satisfac- 
tion, as it were, with itself; as if its inmates were at 
peace with themselves and with the world at large; life 
and they shaking hands in good-fellowship. We turn 
inquiringly to the guide, who answers our unspoken 
inquiry in the simple words, "'Tis Bismark's house," 
"We are glad to see the home of the giant-brained man 
who has made his country the leading monarchical 
power of Europe, and who has left his impress strongly 
marked upon the political history of the nineteenth 
century. We trust that he will be allowed to retire 
while his honors lie thick upon him, and before the 
coming king, who is said to be inimical to him, has 
opportunity of doing him any disrespect. 



POTSDAM. 183 



POTSDAM. 



Potsdam^ very naturally styled the " Versailles of 
Prussia," is half an hour distant by rail from Berlin. 
We first visit the Royal Palace, and wander with pleas- 
ure through the apartments once occupied by Frederick 
the Great, which, remaining unchanged, contain many 
souvenirs, such as his hat, scarf, and writing-table 
spotted with ink, his music-stand, and the furniture, 
whose covering is defaced by the dogs who were his 
petted and favorite companions. 

His bedroom opens into a small dining-room having 
a trap-door set in the floor, through which the table 
rose laden, with perhaps eel-pie, as that was his favorite 
dish, disappearing at the conclusion of his meal in the 
same magical manner, thus doing away with the pres- 
ence of curious servants during political or private dis- 
cussions. 

But the most agreeable visit is made to Sans Souci, 
in the suburbs of Potsdam, whose palace park is an 
Elim, with its beautiful waters and trees. The great 
fountain, which throws a jet nearly one hundred and 
twenty feet high, its basin surrounded by marble 
groups of mythological characters, is at the foot of the 
hill on which stands the charming little palace, reached 
by terraces covered with flowering trees and conserva- 
tories. This was Frederick's favorite resort, and where 



184 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

lie entertained his ungrateful and cynical friend Vol- 
taire. The king's apartments are as he left them. His 
choice collection of books, some of which retain the crit- 
ical remarks pencilled on their margin by Voltaire; the 
couch and chair, both of which contradictorily share the 
honor of having supported the dying king in his last 
moments; and the clock which he had been in the habit 
of winding, its hands pointing to the hour of his death, 
twenty minutes past two ; its ticking said to have ceased 
at the moment of the spirit's departure. There it has 
stood untouched for nearly a hundred years, a silent 
memento of a solemn and sacred scene. How sad to 
think that the great spirit, so full of worldly wisdom, 
left the earthly throne, which it had adorned, to appear 
before the heavenly one, doubting, skeptical, or utterly 
indifferent to the realities of an eternal future ! That 
he who boasted of having set his earthly kingdom in 
perfect order, even to the smallest details, should have 
spent no thought or made no known preparation for 
the endless life of his own immortal soul ! Not far 
from Frederick's apartments are those which were oc- 
cupied by Voltaire when the familiar and honored 
guest of the Prussian king. These also remain as when 
left by this man, great in brain-power, but too little and 
mean in heart- qualities to retain the friendship won by 
the fascination which a brilliant intellect exercises over 
other cultured minds. His innate vanity and inherent 



POTSDAM. 185 

selfishness always blighted the bud of affection felt for 
him, or if perchance it blossomed prematurely in the 
light of his brilliant talents, it was inevitably blasted 
through his cynicism and inordinate self-conceit. In 
examining the furniture we found its tapestry covered 
with illustrations from La Fontaine's Fables, a fact 
which affords a little incident characteristic of the pleas- 
ant intercourse existing between the host, royal in rank, 
and the guest, royal in intellect. Voltaire, always dis- 
paraging La Fontaine, whose powers, although not 
profound, were surely possessed of some elements of 
excellence, instigated perhaps by literary jealousy, 
refused to concede to the Fables the merit which the 
world awards them. Frederick, espousing the cause 
of La Fontaine, took advantage of a temporary ab- 
sence of Voltaire and ordered his furniture to be cov- 
ered w^ith representations of some of the principal 
Fables. Tradition fails to picture the chagrin of the 
subject of the joke, who, as a guest, could not complain 
of the appointments of his apartments. Another sub- 
stantial proof of the king's playful humor towards his 
friends is seen in the corridor of the palace, where 
stands on a pedestal a fine statue of Venus. Below it, 
on the floor, rests the bust of one of his generals. 
This poor unfortunate, as the fact of his being a 
woman-hater proves him to have been, took great 
pleasure in giving free expression to his aversion to 

. 9* 



186 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the sex, Frederick, who, although not a lover of his 
kind, yet cherished no special dislike to woman, devised 
the ingenious plan of punishing so unnatural and un- 
manly a trait by procuring a bust of the general and 
giving it permanent place at ih^feet of the marble statue 
which adorns so conspicuous a place in his palace. 

Must there not have been a jarring chord in that 
brave soldier's nature, that at the touch of some memory 
gave forth discordant notes, but which, on the strange 
principle of compensation, might have been tuwed into 
harmony by some feminine hand? 

"To a man who has had a mother'^ should not "all 
women be sacred for her sake'^ ? And may not respect 
and regard for the sex prove an " segis" to a bachelor, 
and a sun, as well as shield, warming into active life 
those emotions and principles which are often dormant 
in the masculine nature ? 

Passing out of the bright little palace, whose win- 
dows look upon as fair a scene as the eye or soul could 
covet, we walk a few steps to the end of the terrace, 
and stand beside several flat tablets, whose inscriptions 
inform us that the favorite dogs and the charger of the 
king are buried here. The king's fondness for these 
was a marked peculiarity of his character, giving to 
these dumb, soulless, and yet intelligent creatures the 
affection he withheld from human kind. And so skep- 
tical was he of those noblest traits — sincerity and 



POTSDAM. 187 

fidelity — in his fellow-men, that he preferred to ba- 
stow upon the brute creation the affection he refused 
to his wife and to others. It is said that in a certain 
battle one of his dogs was lost, remaining absent for 
some time, and that upon its return it manifested such 
excessive delio-ht on seeino; its master that the kino* 
burst into tears. It is also a well-known fact that 
he directed that his body after death should share the 
grave with his already buried horse. This request, 
however, was not complied with. 

A short distance from the palace stands the historic 
windmill, occupying ground now belonging to the 
crown, but which once so strongly excited the covetous 
desire of Frederick. Well was it, for the modern Na- 
both, that he was not resisting an Ahab, whose wife 
could resort to sanguinary means to secure the treasure. 
As it is, the quaint old mill stands as a memorial of 
justice and a vindicator of the majesty of law. 

And now that we have, through familiar souvenirs, 
seen the home-life of Frederick, we follow him to his 
final resting-place in the "Garrison Church," in the 
village of Potsdam. It is an exceeding plain, old struc- 
ture, erected by Frederick's father, Frederick William 
I. On the walls hang flags, taken in various battles, and 
in rear of the pulpit are mahogany receptacles, where 
are preserved the uniforms worn by the three sovereigns 
who formed the "Holy Alliance.'' Not in a subter- 



188 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ranean vault, although beneath the pulpit, is the plain 
metallic coffin which contains the remains of a "mighty 
man of valor/^ one who in the face of tremendous 
disadvantages compelled the great nations of Europe 
to acknowledge his military genius and to succumb to 
his superior military tactics. We remember that the 
lowest order of man may have brute or physical force, 
and successfully exercise it; but pre-eminent above 
physical courage, and even that genius that boldly 
organizes mighty campaigns, leading vast arn^ies on to 
battle and to conquest, is the moral strength that sup- 
ports a grand spirit amid, it would seem, overwhelming 
discouragements; and that irresistible pluck which car- 
ries him through difficulties before which even many 
stout hearts would quail. The world now, in the unini- 
passioned view by which time permits past actions and 
long-buried lives to be judged,- — and 'tis a certain test,. 
— pronounces this man to be worthy of the grand and 
rarely deserved title of "Great.^' We turn our eyes 
to the marble sarcophagus of the only other silent in- 
cumbent of this sepulchral chamber. We gaze almost 
ironically, at least bitterly, upon it. The massive 
casket encloses the heartless form of Frederick Wil- 
liam I., the father of the " Great'' King, and his im- 
mediate predecessor. 

We believe that there is almost a divine element in 
parental sentiment and relations; that parentage is the 



POTSDAM. 189 

coronation of married life; that heaven in the bestowal 
of a child is endowing wedlock with a sublime trust; 
that its immortal soul is like a precious, although crude, 
gem, to be shaped and polished with the tenderest 
care, that it may one day be worthy to shine in the 
Redeemer's crown ; that to insure the happiness^as 
well as to minister to the moral and mental training— 
of the child is a solemn obligation; that a child may 
claim as its birthright a happy chiklhood ; that smiles 
should play around its youthful steps, as heaven has 
taught the sunbeams to brighten the world's pathway. 
That no shadows should be voluntarily allowed to 
throw their lengthening gloom over a long life ; that 
while the child should be restrained by uniform and 
gentle firmness, it be made glad by the fond affection 
of the parents' hearts. 

We can see, without aid of imagination, the perni- 
cious effects upon King Frederick's whole after-life of 
a gloomy childhood, in his case of a frightfully dark 
one. His father, a man of brutal instincts, tortured 
the childhood and tyrannized over the youth and 
manhood of his noble son; using personal violence, 
and even meditating the condemning him to death. 
Few temperaments could prove invulnerable to these 
influences. Failing to receive affection from the source 
where he had a right to expect it, he became skeptical 
of the existence of all lesser emotions. Disgusted 



190 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

with a religion whose most rigorous forms had been 
imposed upon him ; seeing none of its gentle benig- 
nity in the life of the father who compelled its strictest 
observance^ he eschewed it forever, when freed from 
the father's tyranny, and died without hope in the 
immortal life. Forced to marry a woman for whom 
he had no regard, he ignored the duties corapulsorily 
thrust upon him, declining to accept the wife of an- 
other's choosing; testifying, however, before his death 
to the unblemished character and virtue of his virgin 
wife» 

"Pitying him," as did Desdemona Othello, "for 
the distressful strokes that his youth suffered," who 
would not heave a sigh as they stand by the tomb of 
this "great" man, who found so little of cheer in this 
world's social and friendly relations, as to prefer to 
lie in death beside his horse, who was wont in life to 
neigh at his approach and to return, according to his 
capacity, the aifection bestowed by his fond master ? 

As we look down upon the simple coffin, we hope 
that the heavenly Father has been more merciful than 
was the earthly to the son, who, we believe, had he been 
reared in an atmosphere of love and kindness; who 
if his life had not been robbed of heaven's richest 
boon, — a happy childhood,— would have been free from 
many of those faults and foibles which marred his 
otherwise noble character. That if a wife voluntarily 



NUREMBERG. 191 

won, and children the fruit of that love, had cheered 
his private life, a portraiture of his social and do- 
mestic habits might have brightened the pages of his- 
tory, blending with the dazzling glory of his storied 
achievements as a military leader and as a king. 

NUREMBERG. 

Nuremberg is a curious, quaint old city. We are 
glad to find that progress — the modern usurper — has 
failed to obliterate many traces of the mediaeval ages ; 
so that one may readily forget his identity and become 
lost in this great past, whose relics abound on every 
side. We delight in these unique phases of ancient 
life, and fear that we shall never again have respect 
for what is not musty with age. Indeed, we have 
found ourselves gazing upon embrowned crumbling 
mummies with a reverential awe that a modern sub- 
ject would not inspire; and upon grimmed old build- 
ings with an inquisitive enthusiasm which no recent 
structure could excite. So fresh are American eyes, 
so unaccustomed to rest upon objects of antiquity, that 
it is with keen relish we allow our attention to be di- 
verted into tliese channels of interest and thought. 
With no venerable " past at our back,'^ the future is 
the god of the American's worship. We live in ad- 
vance of our time; opening up new territory; estab- 
lishing new settlements, founding new institutions, and 



192 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

constantly building up for future generations; press- 
ing always forward^ and never loitering on the way to 
confer with that wisest of teachers, — the world's past, 
— with which " 'tis greatly wise to talk/' gathering 
knowledge and suggestion from its lessons. 

Like many other cities we have seen, Nuremberg is 
divided by a river, which, with its bridges, adds to its 
beauty and picturesqueness. As we ride over one of 
them, we are pleased with the immediate view of an- 
cient buildings, including a tower no^ used as a prison. 
Perhaps the chief feature is the castle, one thousand 
years old, a part of which is fitted up for the royal 
family. It is built high upon a rock, from which the 
view is grand. In an adjacent tower we contemplate 
many repulsive objects with that fascination which the 
horrible affords. It was in olden time the prison where 
criminals were tortured and executed. Within its 
massive walls are collected a great variety of instru- 
ments of torture, which look as if they had been fre- 
quently employed upon suifering humanity. It seems 
a pity that the names of their inventors should not 
always have been associated with these proofs of their 
Satanic ingenuity, so that the execrations of each suc- 
ceeding generation might be heaped upon their mem- 
ories ! Following Haman's precedent, they should have 
been made to demonstrate the utility of the instruments 
upon their own shrinking bodies. The thumb-screw; 



NUREMBERG. 193 

the pillory; tlie wheel on which criminals were broken; 
the chair on which the condemned sat while being be- 
headed ; a separate bench, with two seats, to accommo- 
date the doctor and the executioner, the doctor's having 
a back attached to it ; a chair whose seat was formed of 
sharp points, on which the prisoner was pressed; the 
horrors perhaps culminating in the " iron virgin/' 
This is a massive figure seven feet high, its interior 
bristling with spikes which penetrated the prisoner 
when thrust into it. His death accomplished, the 
body was released and allowed to fall through a trap- 
door leading to subterranean vaults. We see the 
wooden pen, dark and frightful, in which a condemned 
criminal passed the night preceding his execution. 
But among these barbarous relics is one which sug- 
gests so fitting a punishment for those who ^' put an 
enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains'' that 
we would be glad to see it adopted in our own country. 
It is a common barrel, in which the drunkard, after 
being placed within it, his head projecting over the top, 
was driven through the public streets. A deep moat 
lying below this curious old tower, and originally filled 
with water, is now a bed of luxuriant grass, shrubs, 
and trees. 

The Church of ^' St. Lawrence,'' built in the thir- 
teenth century, is of beautiful Gothic architecture, with 
many ornamental towers and spires. Its interior is 



194 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

full of interest. A Gothic pix of white granite, most 
elaborately carved, rises to a height of sixty-four feet, 
and is a marvel of grace and beauty. Its apex is in 
the form of a shepherd's crook, and bends over as if to 
protect the sculptured beauty below it, Longfellow 
thus describes it :— 

"In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture 
rare, 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains rising through the painted 
air." 

The windows of the church are unusually fine, and 
it is through them that the air is ^^ painted" in rich 
glowing color. This church, now belonging to the 
Lutherans, was originally dedicated to the Roman 
Catholic faith, and still retains several of its souvenirs. 
In one corner of the church we see an ancient altar of 
unpainted iron, and our curiosity is excited by discov- 
ering several human bones visible through a grating. 
Their presence is explained in this wise. A family of 
high rank missed a valuable silver tankard ; diligent 
search having been made in vain, suspicion fell upon 
the steward, who, although protesting his innocence, 
was condemned to torture, confession being extorted 
under its power, Not restoring, however, the missing 
article, he was executed. Some time after, his inno- 
cence being proved by the accidental discovery of the 



NUREMBERG. 195 

tankard in a remote cupboard, the family, burdened 
with remorse, built this curious old shrine, and in ex- 
piation of their unjust censure, and to atone for its fatal 
consequences, exhumed the poor fellow's bones, placing 
them over the altar consecrated to his vindicated mem- 
ory. 

In an opposite nave the site of a former confessional 
is pointed out as associated with a tragic event of days 
long gone by. A young priest, in accordance with 
God-given instincts, the indulgence of which heaven 
encourages, but contrary to the unnatural law of his 
church, — fell in love! The object of his affection loved 
another, and revealed the fact to the enamored priest in 
the confessional. Upon leaving it, he hanged himself 
upon a heavy bronze candelabrum suspended near by, 
and, being discovered soon after, by his indignant fel- 
low-priests, was cut down and summarily ejected from 
the neighboring window. 

There are two bronze fountains in- the town very 
noticeable because of their unique design. One is 
called the " Fountain of the Virtues," the water flow- 
ing from the breasts of several large female figures. 
The quaintness of the design, as well as the merit of its 
execution, attracts the eye. Near the market is another 
fountain, representing a man of small proportions, in 
the quaint garb of a farmer, holding under his arm a 
goose, from whose bill issues a jet of water. This is 



196 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

to commemorate the welcome appearance of the first 
poultry -vender who had the courage to enter the 
plague-stricken city after the disease had spent itself. 
So one is never allowed in these ancient cities to forget 
the striking events of past ages. All revel in the re- 
membrance of a rich past ; its heroeSj never buried in 
forgetful ness, live in sculptured forms before the world. 
The intelligent traveller finds ample illustration of the 
events of former times, with which he is familiar 
through reading, and feels somewhat fossil-like him- 
self, being surrounded by the stone, bronze, and marble 
effigies of ancient worthies. We begin to feel that 
there is great prestige in age and in having a volumi- 
nous history, and when speaking of our own country 
fall back upon the fact that it existed — inhabited, to be 
sure, by mere aborigines — centuries before its discovery 
by Columbus. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

HEIDELBERG— FRANKFORT. 

HEIDEI.BERG. 

How often in some bright snnny day of summer- 
time have we watched tlie busy bee as it would flit 
from flower to flower in the enamelled field, spending 
a fleeting moment in absorbing the sweetness of the 
humble clover; and then, although agreeably catered 
to, yet, with almost human fickleness, flying to another 
blossom, perhaps to the simple sweet-brier, whose 
beauty suggests a feast even more luscious; and so, in 
turn, each gay, flaunting flower of the meadow tempts 
the giddy bee to sip its nectar. Does not the insect 
find its counterpart in the tourist, whose aim is to taste, 
although not exhaust, the inherent charm of each city, 
as he speeds on his "flying trip'' ? And each one pos- 
sesses that individuality which we associate with the 
human character ; some peculiar attraction, strictly per- 
sonal ; each enjoyable, but all together presenting that 
variety which forms the pleasure of continuous travel. 

Starting anew, we soon find ourselves in the famous 

197 



198 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

University town of Heidelberg, which is beautifully 
situated on the Neckar, at the base of the hill Konigs- 
tuhL Leaving the train, we saunter up to the hotel, 
but a few steps distant, and there find, in its pretty 
gardens glowing with gay flowers, its broad, pleasant 
verandas, and cheerful aspect, a bright welcome. We 
have arrived most opportunely. The yearly com- 
mencement has just completed its exercises, and the 
culminating act of the drama, a brilliant illumination 
of the celebrated castle, is to be accomplished this very 
evening. This unusual demonstration, only occurring 
at long intervals, is considered so gorgeously grand that 
many have come from far and near to witness the dis- 
play. The streets are thronged ; vehicles in great de- 
mand ; the hotels crowded ; and expectation beaming in 
every face. We secure a carriage and start out for an 
evening's entertainment. Toiling up the hill-side over 
a good spiral road, we enjoy a fine prospect of tlie 
adjacent country. The town lies below us, with its 
crowded streets; the Neckar flowing by its side, and 
the magnificent old castle on an elevated position, " the 
observed of all observers.'' But the evening shades 
are gathering; a signal for the coming event. We 
descend the hill, cross the river, and remain in the 
carriage, taking a favorable position to witness the 
promised display. The crowd fills the highway ; music 
strives to drown the discord ; the river presents an aui- 



HEIDELBERG. 199 

mated scene, covered with gayly-decorated boats filled 
with lively, dashing young students in their varied and 
jaunty little caps, their colors indicating the classes to 
which the wearers belong. That the moon refuses her 
light none regret, as the illumination will be the more 
effective in her absence. But the stars also, in petulant 
mood, suspecting, perhaps, that their mild sweet light is 
to be eclipsed,— like many of their vocal and dramatic 
sisters, — decline at the last moment to appear. The air 
becomes murky, the human temper impatient, when 
suddenly, just as expectation has ripened, the heavens 
open, and a heavy thunder-shower threatens to engulf 
us. The people disappear — who knows where ? Their 
retreat is always accomplished, under such circum- 
stances, in a mysterious way. Nature soon exhausting 
her reservoirs, peace is again restored to the elements ; 
the crowds regather, and all eyes are riveted upon 
the castle, which is, in its old age, to be rejuvenated 
with youthful fire and to shine and dazzle as with 
supernatural glow. It looms up in solitary grandeur 
on the hill-side before us; gloom pervades its grand 
spaces; darkness looks grimly out at its portals; its 
rich, full robes of ivied green protecting its sides from 
the dampness of night. It is reposing upon its strength 
of centuries, defying Time with that majestic dignity 
that commands respect for even an inanimate object. 
From a boat on the river a signal is given, not seen 



200 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

by the waiting crowds, but recognized by watching eyes 
at the castle ; and now such a sight as we have never 
before witnessed bursts upon our vision. Instanta- 
neously the whole structure, magnificent in its pro- 
portions, superb in its carved ornamentation, statued 
fa9ades, and in its stately tower, glows with a light 
indescribable in glory and color; at first absolutely 
bathed in a ruby-like, flanieless fire, instantly changing 
into one of green that rivals the emerald in hue. The 
brilliancy gradually fades out, except from the^ tower, 
which is irradiated with a light almost unearthly in its 
splendor, and, this dying away, the colossal fabric is 
again enshrouded in the gloom of night. 

The expenses of this illumination are defrayed by 
the students, and although it is but of few moments' 
duration is very costly. As the departure of the stu- 
dents takes place on the day following the exhibition, 
they, like other blessings, may be said to 

" Brighten as they take their flight." 

The next morning, during a drive to and from the 
castle, we meet many of the students, of whose duelling 
practices we, in common with the world, have often 
heard. In the bustle of departure they are circulating 
everywhere ; the streets are thronged with them, and 
we are astonished at the large numbers whose scarred 
visages bear the marks of disgraceful encounters. 



HEIDELBERG. 201 

Fair youthful foreheads seamed with deep sabre-cuts ; 
cheeks gashed ; ears split ; and eyes distorted, — barely 
escaping utter loss. With what shamefacedness should 
they hereafter present their countenances, marred as 
with the brand of Cain, in polite society! "Were 
their gaping wounds received on the battle-field in 
honorable conflict, they would win them sympathy 
and renown. Were the horrid red lines that are 
deeply graven across their seared faces received in 
defence of their country, they would be like badges of 
honor, reminding the world that those who wore them 
were of such stuff as heroes are made of, and their dis- 
figured faces would be passports to the favor of the 
gentle sex, who admire bravery, patriotism, and all 
heroic qualities. We are informed by resident parties 
that the evil is assuming formidable proportions, and 
that the government is waking up to the consciousness 
of its enormity. The police either cower under the 
united strength of some hundreds of gay, reckless 
youths, and so wink at their infringement of the laws; 
or they are corrupted by the full purses of the rich, and 
often titled, young scapegraces. The code originated 
by these impetuous spirits allows no affront to pass 
without being effaced by human blood ; they seem to 
thirst, as does the tiger of the jungle, for its taste. A 
German Whittier should sing to them this blessed 
sentiment : 

10 



202 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

" O, brotlier man ! fold to thy heart thy brother ; 
Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there ; 
To worship rightly, is to love each other. 

Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer." 

In the cellar of the Castle we see a renowned 
curiosity in the mammoth tiin^ thirty-six feet long and 
twenty-four feet high. Its capacity is eight hundred 
hogsheads. There are steps leading to the top of it, 
on which is a platform where the students in former 
times w^ere wont, on certain gala occasions", to have a 
dance. Had the flooring given way, they might have 
been drowned in the spirituous liquor, a manner of 
death that the Duke of Clarence preferred to any 
other. Near by stands the grotesquely painted wooden 
image of the court jester, who was made notorious by 
his apparently infinite capacity for imbibing. A clock 
of rude construction hangs near him, with a string 
appended to it which the unwary visitor is invited to 
pulL Should he comply, a large bushy tail is suddenly 
projected into his face, to his i)ersonal chagrin and to 
the malicious amusement of the spectators. 

FRANKFORT. 

Frankfort-on-the-Main is a city that impresses one 
with its respectability and solid merit; but, unlike many 
of the cities to which this description might apply, it 
has much sweet poetry of light attraction to mingle with 



FRANKFORT. 203 

the prose of its substantial and more matter-of-fact ad- 
vantages. The city is not as popular among tourists as 
many others, and ahhough we find a sojourn of several 
days pleasantly employed, a few hours would make us 
acquainted with its leading features. It is eminently a 
business city ; the headquarters of money and banking 
interests; the birthplace of the first of the Rothschilds, 
and also of the famous banker Bethmann. We are 
much gratified by a drive through the old part of the 
city, our attention being often directed to the venerable 
buildings, with their quaint gables overshadowing the 
lower stories, and in the Jewish quarter of the city to the 
exceedingly high dwellings, among which is one pointed 
out as the house in which Hothschild, the head of that 
famous family, was born. The house, like others of its 
class, is swarming with life, occupied by many families. 
Grim, dirty, and blackened with age, it bears little re- 
semblance to the many stately palaces now occupied by 
the descendants of the great financier who built up not 
only a personal reputation, but a family name, honorably 
represented in many European countries. 

There is another house so associated with greatness 
— a different phase, however — that we gladly turn 
our steps towards it. Goethe was born in Frankfort, 
and not only is the house in which he passed his pre- 
cocious childhood to be seen, but the room is pointed 
out where the mother bore the child who, almost life- 



204 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

less, was with difficulty reanimated. How much more 
earnest would have been the efforts of the midwife and 
attendants had they suspected that the life of the in- 
augurator of a new intellectual experience for Germany 
— one whose birth was to prove an epoch in the 
nation's history — hung in the balance! How little, 
too, the mother dreamed that the feeble physical life 
enshrined a mental organization of such power and 
genius as had never before dawned upon Germany; who 
was to be an object of not only an empire's enthusiastic 
appreciation, but of the world's admiring regard, and 
that at the death of the philosopher poet two worlds 
would mourn him ! How much to be regretted that the 
soul of a man upon whose utterances the world waited, 
and who wielded an incalculable influence upon the 
general mind, should have been so befogged in mysti- 
cism, failing to recognize in his life The Hand that 
guides the world, and in the problem of life and in the 
enigma of death the germ of Christian truth and faith ! 
The room in which the eyes of the w^onderful babe 
first opened is small, and utterly devoid of all decora- 
tion. The study and desk are shown to the interested 
traveller, and in one of the chambers familiar to his 
childhood the picture, with several other souvenirs, of 
the woman whom his love may have idealized, but who 
stands out brightly in the light of her home. There 
she presided, taking tender care of young brothers and 



FRANKFORT. 205 

sisters who had sustainecl, with her, the loss of a 
mother. This Charlotte of sweet memory was neces- 
sarily shut out from the after-life of her gifted lover, 
because of an engagement to another; but her appreci- 
ative friendship was enjoyed by him, and he, in turn, 
by making his love for her one of the inspiring sub- 
jects of his famed novel, ^^ The Sorrows of Werther,*^ 
has immortalized her name. In one room hangs the 
picture of his mother, who was evidently fair, comely, 
and sweetly womanly. We stand and gaze upon her 
benignant smile and shapely features with deep interest, 
as we ever do upon the living form or pictured face of 
one who has borne a genius or mothered a hero, Who 
can estimate the glorious dignity of motherhood, and 
the exquisite pleasure of claiming, in the lovely maiden- 
hood of the daughters and in the vigorous manhood 
of the sons, a personal right so close that none but a 
heavenly-ordained power could bestow it ! The won- 
derful link between the mother and child is of sym- 
bolic gold, so beautiful and pure that it could be of no 
other than Heaven's forging. 

The house once occupied by Martin Luther is also to 
be seen, the fact memorialized by his bust placed upon 
its front. Thus is the memory of this German apostle, 
the prodigious champion of our Christian faith, honored 
in all the places that once resounded to his tread. Alas 
that in his own native land the echoes of those victorious 



206 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

footsteps should now be so faintly heard, and that a gos- 
pel which he so fearlessly promulgated, with the enthu- 
siastic zeal of a soul but recently rescued from the bonds 
of slavish error, should be so feebly supported, and, in- 
deed, in its sublime purity and simplicity almost ignored ! 

The banker, Bethmaon, having in the statue Ariadne, 
by Dannecker, a superb treasure, has erected for it a 
small building within his garden. For a trifling gra- 
tuity strangers may feast upon the rare graces of the 
sculptured beauty. A curtain is withdrawn, and there 
we see the life-sized form sitting on a leopard. It seems 
to us the personification of female loveliness and a 
triumpli of the sculptor's skill. It might well suggest 
to the modern bachelor a feminine ideal of not only 
those personal charms to which all are susceptible, but 
of the mental graces which seem to irradiate even these 
marble features; and which, united with the former, 
^^ show how divine a thing a woman may be made.'' 

Through the red skylight a tempered color is thrown 
upon the statue. A glow tinges the pale cheek, seems 
to illumine the eyes, and to give a flush of feeling to 
the figure, apparently instinct with the shy, modest, 
sweet sentiment of a living soul. We gaze and won- 
der how Theseus, the possessor of such rare beauty as 
is here represented, could ever have turned his back 
upon it, and sailed away to encounter all the desolating 
gloom of widowerhood. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

BADEN-BADEN— COLOGNE. 

BADEN-BADEX. 

Baden-Baden, before the consolidation of the Ger- 
man Empire, was the rendezvous of all gay pleasure- 
seekers in Europe, and not only of that class of reck- 
less adventurers who live by their wits, but of those 
who found the novel scene it exhibited so fascinating 
that they sought it for amusement, even while they 
refused to succumb to its pernicious allurements. The 
gaming-tables, which were the "cynosure of all eyes," 
drew multitudes, who, when deprived of their facilities 
or of their spectacular attraction, failing to find in the 
natural advantages of the watering-place and in its 
milder forms of diversion sufficient enticement, forsook 
the once favorite haunt. Germany, although over its 
national character there floats a scum of infidelity, ob- 
serves great decorum in its legalized amusements, and 
when Baden Baden came under its control it was 
divested and purified of its moral cancer, gambling. 
It is a penetrating disease, absorbing a man's whole 

207 



208 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

thought, depriving him of will-power, and so corrupt- 
ing his judgment and reason that his entire being is 
infected with the moral poison. We honor that govern- 
ment which will reject the financial advantages accru- 
ing from the establishment of these great gambling 
centres, encouraging in lieu of them those amusements 
which are not prejudicial to the growth of a healthy 
moral sentiment in the community. This should be 
the policy of all governments, and, even if selfishness 
lurks at its roots, it will still bear good fruit. 

Baden-Baden is cosily situated in the valley of the 
Vos, which in its petty trickling scarce deserves the 
title of rivers The town encroaches somewhat upon 
the slopes of the bordering hills, pretty gardens smil- 
ing in the sunshine. The " Neue Trinkhalle'' is the 
focus of attraction at the usual drinking-hour, while 
the somewhat unsavory waters are made tolerable by 
the delightful strains of a good band, the ear being 
ministered to at the expense of the palate. This hall 
is a colonnade, richly frescoed ; contiguous to it are the 
Promenade and " Conversationshaus.'^ The latter is 
a commodious building, with a portico in Corinthian 
style. It contains a splendid hall-room, concert-rooms, 
restaurant, and reading-room. The saloons, too, whose 
gaming-tables once drew the presence of the world, are 
still dazzling and gorgeous in glittering show, but 
vacant and silent, as befits the burial-place of so many 



BADEN-BADEN. 209 

hopes, fortunes, and reputations. Still, there are many 
seductive charms to delight the visitors who throng the 
promenade at evening. We take chairs, and, in pay- 
ment, order ices, and there sit, with Heaven's blue 
canopy studded with stars glittering above us ; flowers 
nodding drowsily, the evening breeze stirring their 
slumbers w^ith its soft breath, the atmosphere dropping 
its diamond dew-drops upon their drooping petals ; the 
music of choice selection and delicious in melody, touch- 
ing all hearts ; while the giddy crowds pass and repass, 
seeming happy in light, frivolous talk, A Chinese 
pagoda costing ten thousand dollars, near the Hall, 
accommodates the band, which is worthy of so costly a 
pavilion. We leave many stray francs at the shops, 
which are replete with elegant ornaments and knick- 
knacks, forming, as they do at all such resorts, a con- 
spicuous feature and an irresistible temptation. 

A ride follows, of some miles, in itself affording keen 
pleasure, through "lanes and valleys green, dingles and 
bushy dells,'' and fine old woods. We are at length 
compelled to alight and climb a hill to reach the grand 
ruins of an ancient Schloss, or castle, built by the 
Romans many centuries ago, — how many no one can 
tell. It is an enormous, rambling structure, its tow^ers 
rising higher than we dare to ascend, lower positions 
affording a view sufficiently extensive, rich, and varied. 
Far away, the hills of the Black Forest are discernible ; 

10- 



210 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

then the spreading plain, threaded by the faintly- traced 
Ehine; while nearer lies the sweet valley of the hospita- 
ble little town of Baden-Baden, with its pretty cluster- 
ing homes and modest little river. The grandeur of 
the ruins is in no way diminished, but made perfect by 
the union of pretty, clinging vines, which in their 
dense, wild luxuriance seem to revel in their freedom, 
clambering with riotous growth over lofty towers, send- 
ing down graceful festoons, which shade the walls and 
toy with every passing breeze. 

But w^e must leave this venerable monument of past 
ages, with its clinging, bride-like vines, to visit the scene 
of the singular private drama of a life whose shame- 
less record is perpetuated in many visible objects. 

We catch a glimpse through a broad fine vista of an 
elegant chateau. It is very prettily situated, half encir- 
cled by woods, with pleasant lawns stretching before it ; 
but its interior is unusually inviting and opens up to 
us new forms of gay, brilliant, and unique ornamenta- 
tion. The palace was built and furnished by the Mar- 
gravine Sybilla, a woman of luxurious and perhaps 
somewhat gaudy taste, and of life most unchristian ; a 
voluptuary of wide-spread fame, and of such beauty 
as delighted to repeat itself. In an apartment called 
the mirror room we find the walls and ceiling formed 
of small mirrors so ingeniously arranged that there is 
but one place in which one fails to see his reflection. 



BA DEN-BADEN. 211 

In another room are seventy pictures of herself in every 
possible guise and attitude. In still another apartment 
the walls are literally covered with portraits of men of 
her time, — perhaps the art-gallery picturing her disso- 
lute life. Tiie grand bedchamber is hung in richest 
tapestry wrought by herself and her ladies. The walls 
of one room are lined with pictured porcelain, a singu- 
lar and very costly finish. It would be impossible to 
enumerate the vast number of ornaments scattered with 
regal profusion through the beautiful suite of apart- 
ments. The life, gay, frivolous, unwomanly, and im- 
pure, that once animated these places has long since fled ; 
although it seems, in penetrating the private apart- 
ments full of the familiar objects of domestic life, that 
we might encounter at any moment the unfortunate 
spirit that once brightened these rooms, so invested do 
they seem with the immediate presence of their noto- 
rious mistress. As we emerge from the pleasant man- 
sion, we hear the wind as it sweeps through the leafy 
branches of the lofty trees that surround it, sounding to 
our imagination, which has become captive to the spell 
that by this time is woven around us, like a dirge 
moaning over a sad and wasted life. Within the 
grounds is a small round chapel, called the " Hermit- 
age," where the rich, beautiful, and sinful woman was 
in the habit of spending in strict seclusion, and in a 
superficially penitential mood, the forty days of Lent. 



212 - WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

Each year at that season would she lay aside her gorgeous 
apparel and the unhallowed practices of her life^ and, 
assuming a dress of coarsest serge, would enter the little 
chapel to remain alone with her offended Maker. The 
days and nights were devoted to expiatory penances, 
such as self-scourging, wearing an iron shirt, and in 
seeking repose only upon a rope mat, eschewing every 
luxury and the attendance that belonged to her rank ; 
condescending to the performance of the most menial 
offices; returning at the expiration of the season to 
the sinful follies of her previous life. 

We enter the tiny building with eager curiosity. It 
is divided into several very small apartments,— one, an 
oratory, where is a life-sized waxen figure of our Lord 
stretched out beneath the rude shrine at which she per- 
formed her devotions. On the wall hangs a scourge, 
and a shirt of rough, prickly iron which she wore next 
her person. In the next room is a small wooden table 
where she ate, waxen figures representing the Virgin 
Mary and the Saviour seated at the opposite side. In 
the adjoining room is the coarse woven mat on Avhich 
she slept ; a repulsive human skull is suspended near, 
which it was her duty to contemplate. Next to her 
dormitory was the kitchen where she prepared her 
scanty meals. The floors of the ^^ Hermitage" are of 
rough pine, and all the appointments such as we asso- 
ciate with abject poverty. 



BADEN-BADEN. 213 

The little building in which we stand is full of sug- 
gestion, and fires a new train of thought. As we 
contemplate this Magdalen's character, we think of 
the stigma which justly falls upon an unhallowed life, 
and of the unequal view which the world takes of lax 
morality in the sexes. Why is it, we ask ourselves, 
that man should be allowed to sow his ^^ wild oats/^ 
while woman is expected to sow ivheat f Why 
should a man demand of the woman he marries an un- 
spotted maidenhood and an unblemished life, while his 
past has been tarnished by sin? Why require that 
her vestal fires should have burned purely, while in his 
heart are the ashes of unholy passions ? Why the dif- 
ference? Will Heaven require of the weaker sex a 
higher degree of moral excellence than of the stronger ? 
Should condemnation fall more heavily upon the 
tempted than upon the tempter ? One of Solon's laws 
decreed that that man should be declared infamous who 
condoned his wife's infidelity. Eight so far; but why 
not frame a twin law that the wife should be declared 
infamous who tolerated her husband's unfaithfulness, 
or the maiden who ignored her lover's derelictions? 
But so it has ever been ; public opinion heaping male- 
dictions upon the female culprit, while winking at the 
unsanctified habits of man. So has the world wagged 
since the days of Abraham, when poor Sarah compelled 
the dismissal of Hagar. 



2J4 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Woman is essentially superior in her moral nature to 
man; her religious tendencies are more marked; her 
instincts nobler, purer; her anoral perceptions more 
delicate and acute. While we cannot affirm that her 
feelings and affections are more profound, yet we do 
believe them to be more delicate and chaste. When 
we realize that her power underlies the whole social 
economy, that through it the passions of men are 
swayed, their emotions moved, their tastes biassed, 
and often their prejudices excited, we recognize the 
providential aspects of the case„ What man can deny 
the overwhelming influence of woman in the social as 
well as domestic sphere? What one man is there 
whose life has not been more or less affected, often 
even directed, through a woman's influence? — a sub- 
tilely working power, but the more pervading for that. 
Indeed, we believe that every woman is more or less 
responsible not only for the earthly career, but for the 
eternal destiny, of some one man at least ! 

Woman should be man's guiding star, pointing to 
heaven and leading the w^ay. Through the influence 
of her refined, cultivated society are developed the 
latent virtues, and perchance nobility, slumbering in 
his nature, just as the sun's rays woo the budded 
flower to unfold its hidden beauty. The influence 
and love of a good woman — alas that there are 
any other ! — may be the means, like Jacob's ladder, 



COLOGNE. 215 

through which man may be won into communion with 
heaven, whose purity and truth should be typified in 
tlie female character. 

We would not magnify our sex to the disparage- 
ment of the other, for we honor man. Our Saviour, 
in assuming man's form, dignified manhood and 
crowned it with majesty. What in the moral world 
is more grand than a rich, heroic manhood, around 
which cluster all those noble attributes which go to 
make up the ideal masculine character ! Like a 
rock he stands, immovable, strong, grand ; and yet 
the clear, purling stream, which flows often at its side, 
by its gentle influence, woman-like, gradually wears 
into smoothness its rough j)oints. Firm in principle, 
true to instincts, and faithful to all trusts, the highest 
type of man stands, 

" A combination and a form indeed, 
Where every god does seem to set his seal 
To give the world assurance of a man !" 

COLOGNE. 

Aside from the cathedral there is comparatively 
little of note in the old city of Cologne to entertain 
the traveller. Its streets are simply noticeable because 
they are those of a foreign city ; a city once famed for 
its great commercial importance. Besides the cathedral 



216 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

there are several churches which secure at least 
passing attention. 

Entering the church of ^^ St. Ursula/^ a dreary and 
singular sight greets one, the walls being lined with 
shelves, on which are deposited a vast collection of 
bones, their presence explained through the following 
legend. St, Ursula, the daughter of a British king, 
accompanied by eleven thousand virgins, made a suc- 
cessful pilgrimage to Rome in the year 453, but on 
their way back they were attacked and massacred at 
Cologne by the Huns, while in defence of their maiden 
vows. Their bones were subsequently collected, and 
have been for many hundred years exposed to view in 
different portions of the church which is dedicated to 
the memory of their heroic death. The sight of these 
dried human relics is repulsive and disagreeably sug- 
gestive ; and yet we would not rob the sweet innocents 
of the reward which is thought to be bestowed upon 
their virtuous memory, for 

" Dear to heaven is saintly chastity." 

In another church may be seen, by payment of a 
gratuity, Rubens's " Crucifixion of St. Peter,'' painted 
a short time before the artist's death. It is a marvel- 
lous conception of human suffering, and its perfection 
of form, we think, evinces a thorough knowledge of 
anatomy. We are aware that, by some, incorrectness 



COLOGNE. 217 

in this particular is attributed to Rubens ; yet the 
defect was perhaps manifest only in his female figures. 
The brilliancy of coloring which characterizes all his 
efforts is, in this picture, observable, although dis- 
tributed with so much judgment and taste as to be 
effective and not obtrusive. We think we never 
looked upon a more powerful representation of human 
agony than this, and we wonder if the myth-like story 
told of Guido Reni's painting of the "Crucifixion" 
might not apply to this almost inspired effort. To 
paint a face with ordinary expression — in repose — re- 
quires a hand of cunning skill. But to portray in 
every lineament anguish unspeakable, such anguish as 
distorts every line of the face ; the smooth curves ruf- 
fled into deep furrows ; the veins swollen and knotted ; 
the eyes protruding and glassy ; the mouth drawn and 
tense ; every vein swelling with rushing blood-cur- 
rents; the limbs of the body, too, corresponding to 
the face in signs of mortal agony ; — to accomplish all 
this ; to make every feature, muscle, and limb elo- 
quent with the suffering of martyrdom in its culmi- 
nation of torture, must, in the absence of a model, 
require a genius of whose vast, almost supernatural 
power those who are destitute of artistic talent can 
have no idea. The artist's imagination must have 
been of abnormal development ; the mental concep- 
tion of almost inspired birth. 



218 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Tradition, seldom reliable, has it, that Guido E,eni 
became so frenzied with zeal, so completely imbued 
with the spirit of his subject, that, catching up a 
stiletto, he plunged it into the body of his living 
model, that he might more faithfully depict the ex- 
pression of dying agony upon his picture of the 
Saviour's face. 

But to return to Rubens's picture of ^' St. Peter's 
Crucifixion.'^ The martyr, by request, is undergoing 
the frightful suffering with head downward, refusing 
to be honored with the position in which his beloved 
Master had been crucified. Noble, magnanimous, 
loving soul, how thoroughly did he expiate the crimi- 
nal weakness of the denial of his Lord ! With wdiat 
deep, untiring, uninterrupted devotion did he seek ever 
after to atone for his temporary disloyalty ! How gen- 
erous his atonement, how warm his love, and bow sin- 
cere his sacrificing worship of Him who had forgiven 
and who ever loved the impetuous disciple, was proven 
by his subsequent experience, and by the final surren- 
der of life itself, under circumstances of voluntary 
aggravation of martyrdom. The picture — wdiose 
figures are life-size— is so striking, so impressive in 
its delineating power, that we think a quiet contem- 
plation of it would stimulate to warmer zeal all luke- 
warm followers of the blessed Saviour, who forgives 
like a God, and who bestows a victor's crown upon 



COLOGNE. 219 

him who, conquering finally, through much tribula- 
tion, enters the Heavenly City at last ! 

While driving through Cologne, we are amazed 
to see in an upper window of a large, fine house 
the heads of two white Avooden horses. What can it 
mean? We must inquire, we say, and, on doing so, 
are entertained, by way of explanation, with the fol- 
lowing legend. During the year 1440, when a terri- 
ble pestilence swept over Germany, the wife of Sir 
Aducht fell sick of the distemper, and, dying, was 
hastily entombed. The cupidity of the sexton was 
fully aroused on seeing the costly jewels which orna- 
mented the hands of the deceased, and he determined 
to divest her of such superfluous decoration. Upon 
visiting her tomb that night and breaking open her 
coffin, he was terrified to see her turn and hear her 
faintly sigh. Superstitious fear taking possession of 
him, he fled without accomplishing his purpose. 

The lady, slowly recovering full consciousness, and 
realizing the horrors of her situation, called for help ; 
but, no one hearing her, she stepped from her coffin, 
and with faltering steps sought her home. 

It was at a late hour when she reached the house of 
her sorrowing husband, who, disturbed by the persist- 
ent knocking at the door, opened the window and de- 
manded the business of the intruder. 

" It is your wife, Richmondis, whom you buried as 



220 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

dead. Oh, come quickly, dear husband, for I am 
overcome with fear and cold.'^ 

" You are a villain to attempt such a joke with an 
afflicted widower." 

" No, no ; I am your own living wife/' 

" That is as impossible as for my horses to ascend 
the stairs." 

At that moment the heavy tread of horses' feet was 
heard on the stairs, and looking down he saw their two 
white heads projecting from one of the windows,^s they 
gazed into the street. 

Trembling with fear, he descended, and, opening the 
door, received into his arms the exhausted form of his 
beloved wife. 

Both survived this wonderful event many happy 
years, and, to commemorate it, Sir Aducht ordered 
two wooden horses to be placed at the window, where 
they remain to this day. 

The cathedral at Cologne is one of the architectural 
wonders of the world, and, as we stand and gaze at the 
elaborate intricacies of its Gothic ornamentation, we 
are thrilled with a renewed appreciation of the human 
genius that was capable of such a stupendous achieve- 
ment. When we realize that to the mind of the archi- 
tect must have been revealed a vision of just such a 
magnificent creation as this, before it could have been 
reduced to a definite plan ; that every tower, buttress, 



COLOGNE. 221 

and pinnacle had been erected in the mind's eye ; that 
the whole temple, with its numberless appointments 
and decorations, was reared in the vast realm of man's 
imagination, before it assumed its present tangible form; 
w^e are dumb with amazement at the palpable proof 
given of the marvellous capacity of man, who surely 
"zs but a little low^er than the angels/' We rejoice 
that this vast and mighty effort of human genius 
should be so appropriately made a tribute to Him who 
is the architect of icorlds ! 

Within, the choir first arrests the eye. How high, 
how majestic ! How artistic the disposition of columns, 
statues, and chapels ! How exquisite the painted win- 
dows ! always a bright medium through which our 
thoughts are turned heavenward. For not only are 
their subjects of Scriptural meaning elevating in 
theme, but we, who find something sublime in color, 
love to look through it up to the Divine Artist, who 
has given expression to his love for his earthly crea- 
tures by painting for their delight the sky in sweet 
color, the grass in reviving green, and the flowers of 
the field in every hue and tint to please the eye of 
man. 

As we enter the cathedral one day, our ear catching 
the sweet notes of music, the words of Goethe flash 
upon our memory, — " Architecture is petrified music. 
The tone of the mind produced by architecture ap- 



222 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

proaches the effect of music/' We look around us. 
Have the numberless graceful pillars, the fine old 
carved stalls, and all the delicate fretwork warmed* into 
life ? and are they singing the beauty which has hith- 
erto mutely appealed to us? and when rich organ- 
sounds suddenly swell the melody, filling the grand 
old temple, we lift our eyes to the wonderful dome, 
to see if it, too, has become endowed with musical 
expression. 

While wandering through the "fretted aisles" and 
splendid naves of these old churches and majestic ca- 
thedrals, we feel a thrill of gratitude for the wise pro- 
vision made for devotees and for tourists, who so gladly 
seek these sacred places, — the one for a whispered 
prayer, beaded paternoster, or for solemn meditation, 
the other for delicious revery amid the wondrous 
beauty of pictured walls, frescoed ceilings, painted win- 
dows, and the lofty, statuesque, and grand in architec- 
ture. Is not beauty an accessory to worship? is it not 
a true and beautiful medium, by which our thought is 
borne heavenward to that Divine Essence of all beauty 
which fills the eternal spheres? What more appro- 
priate place to seek the Divine benison ; to meditate 
upon holy things; to renew covenant vows; to seek a 
blessing on some new plan ; to offer our children anew 
upon the altar of God's love and mercy ; and to recon- 
secrate our future lives to His service, than a church ? 



COLOGNE. 223 

Why should our churches be closed during the week ? 
Would we not tread the solitary aisles and seek the 
vacant pew with diiferent emotions on the weekday, 
from those w^e feel on the Sabbath when surrounded by 
a bustling throng of worshippers ? 

Silence conduces to devotional feeling; a solemn 
gloom enshrouds the holy place ; we feel alone with our 
conscience and our Maker. Who can tell what sancti- 
fying influences, won through such peaceful communion 
within the hallowed walls, may go with us as w'e return 
to the outside world refreshed and strengthened in the 
inner man ? 

Then let us never dose the doors of our chm^Glies, thus 
inviting to a silent altar, within walls dedicated to the 
Hearer of prayer, the w^orn and wearied soul, him who, 
weak in faith, would rally his spiritual forces, and those 
who, suffering in mind, seek relief at the foot of the 
cross, amid the hallowed quiet of the sanctuary. I^o, 
never close the churches, when even to the careless vis- 
itor their sacred associations suggest holy themes, and 
that worship which should fill the soul, — the truest 
Temple of God. 

" Are there no sinners in the churchless week 
"VVho wish to sanctify a vowed repentance ? 
Are there no hearts bereft, which fain would seek 
The only balm for death's unpitying sentence? 
"Whj^ are they shut? 



224 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

''Are there no poor, no wronged, no heirs of grief, 

No sick who, when their strength or courage falters, 
Long for a moment's respite or relief, 

By kneeling at the God of mercy's altars? 
"Why are they shut ? 

" If there he one — one only — who might share 
This sanctifying weekday adoration. 
Were but our churches open to his prayer, 
Why, — I demand with earnest iteration, — 
"Why are they shut?" 



CHAPTEE XV. 

LONDON— SPURGEON— HAMPTON COURT. 

LONDON. 

The compartment of the first-class car in which we 
travel to London, capable of accommodating eight per- 
sons, is delightfully spacious and comfortable, and if 
by chance no stranger is introduced to it, a company of 
friends may enjoy themselves in unrestrained converse, 
or a husband and wife be treated to a domestic tete-cC" 
tete. At intervals in the winter season the guard places 
a long tin, filled with hot water, under the feet, this 
being the only means of conveying heat, proving suffi- 
cient for the climate. 

Arrived at London and established at our hotel, we 
hasten to look about us, and are not disappointed 
to find our eyes resting upon the building which is 
of absorbing interest to all lovers of the ancient, the 
historic, and the sacred, — Westminster Abbey. Here 
history finds illustration in the presence of those who 
made it; here art seeks its noblest representation in 
those works of genius which, as monuments to the 

11 225 



220 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

great dead, line the walls and fill the niches ; here sci- 
ence, philosophy, prose, and poetry receive admiring 
recognition tlirough the marvellous tributes of the 
sculptor to their interpreters and exponents ; here the 
renowned military hero is made through defiant mien 
and uplifted sword, to "fight his battles o'er again." 
The " sacred preacher" is presented to us in his clerical 
robes ; Shakspeare, the king of the drama, is " winding 
the clock of his wit," as he stands before us in thought- 
ful attitude, Milton, who by his inspired imagination 
has opened Paradise to our delighted vision, is, through 
his blind eyes, seeming to pierce heavenly mysteries. 
Chaucer, the ancient "father" of the art we love, lies 
in effigy before us. Addison, whose liquid prose will 
ever continue to fascinate the cultivated mind ; Macau- 
lay, whose rich and massive style amply rewards the 
reader; and Scott, through whose weird, ingenious, 
and unequalled fancy we tread baronial halls, consort 
with kings and queens, are made to join in the rev- 
elries and mingle in the battles of bygone ages, are 
all, witli many others, introduced to us in sculptured 
forms. 

" A dim religious light," appropriate to such a hal- 
lowed sanctuary, pervades the gloomy aisles and chapels, 
and one feels almost oppressed, as if with the burdened 
memories of the great past, whose mighty ghosts seem 
stalking by our side; and with the richness of the 



LONDON. 227 

present age, whose heroes of political and military re- 
nown and its giants in intellect slumber by the side of 
the illustrious of early times. 

In one of the chapels, called The Confessor's, are the 
chairs used for the coronation of English sovereigns, in 
one of which is enclosed the famous stone of Scone, the 
coronation-seat of the kings of Scotland, brought to 
England by Edward I. in the year 1296. 

Westminster Abbey is built in the form of a cross, 
and is the more interesting as it cannot be said to be of 
any one style of architecture, presenting specimens of 
many forms, from the Anglo-Saxon to Early Renais- 
sance. '^A Gothic church,'' Victor Hugo declares to 
be " a sublime book" ; but what could be more worthy 
of the comparison than this venerable shrine? — a vol- 
ume to be read, studied, pondered, and re-read again 
and ao;ain. One feels, in wanderino; throuo^h the aisles 
whose vault is so lofty and of such marvellous execu- 
tion, and between columns that cluster like massive 
trees in a forest, that the architectural art has here at- 
tained its triumph, and that 'tis fitting that pilgrims 
should come from distant lands to marvel at its intri- 
cacies and to acknowledge its successes. 

London, the largest city in the world, presents a sin- 
gular conglomeration, in its architecture, of the anti- 
quated and modern. The English, unlike the French, 
take great pleasure in retaining their old buildings; 



228 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

doing little to remodel them. Immensely tall, ungrace- 
ful edifices, covered with the must of ages, frown down 
upon us everywhere. Time and the atmosphere — so 
damp and foggy — -seem to vie with each other in pro- 
ducing a dark, blackened appearance upon brick and 
mortar, which gives the city a sombre aspect ; indeed, 
London requires the most unmitigated sunlight to 
brighten it, and would absorb much more than nature 
often aifords it. Brick is seldom painted here, because 
i\\Q prevailing humidity soon obliterates all colors — but 
black. 

Let the Englishman sit down in his pride and enjoy 
the appearance of antiquity which the crumbling tiled 
houses, with their moss-covered and grimmed surfaces, 
give his famous city; we of America will have the 
nobler satisfaction of seeing in freshly-hewn marble, in 
granite, and in iron, the hand of progress traced in all 
our cities. But while we give America the preference 
in this respect, we would that we might imitate the ex- 
ample which the English set us in the profound rever- 
ence and homage they pay to their buried heroes. Not 
a park, square, — in which London abounds, — or public 
edifice, but contains the carved or mounted Q^gj of 
their great dead. Why should not we, triumphant 
America, pay such honor to our great generals, intel- 
lectual giants, and political leaders? why should not 
Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Clay, Webster, and 



LONDON. 229 

others, who reflected by the light of their great in- 
tellects and by their patriotic services glory upon our 
country, be thus remembered in all our larger cities ? 
And on enduring brass, or in marble pure and un- 
spotted as his fame, let the grand record of the country's 
latest idol and martyred President be written in letters 
of gold, that the youth of future generations may pause 
to read and admire the story of a man great in his good- 
ness, wise in his simplicity, honest in his convictions, 
and resolute in his will. All hail to the memory of 
our martyred dead ! 

One is often tempted to criticise the physical Eng- 
lishman as seen on the promenade, and wonder that he 
is so heavy and ungraceful in his build, so unlike in 
appearance his more attractive neighbor, the French- 
man, who is lithe, easy, and elegant in person and 
movement. The English in their human structure 
exhibit the solidity and compactness which are charac- 
teristic also of the style of their architecture, and to 
view them generally, one would imagine all ideality to 
be buried in a hallowed corner — the poets' — in that 
revered old pile, Westminster Abbey. 

We have always thought of Spurgeon and Beecher 
as being the representative preachers of the orthodox 
faith in England and America, and were naturally 
desirous of seeino^ and hearing; the En owlish clerical 
orator, having often been the amused, if not benefited, 



230 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

listener of the American apostle. We say amused, for 
ofttimes we have seen the serenity of a vast congrega- 
tion disturbed by a ripple of mirth which threatened to 
culminate in a wave of laughter, under the influence of 
the grotesque contortions of Beecher's singularly mobile 
features, and of a humor so genuine as to prove irre- 
sistible. 

One beautiful Sabbath morning we attempt to find 
'^ The Tabernacle,^' as Spurgeon's church is called. 
It is situated in Surrey District, quite removM from 
the heart of London. Arrived at our destination, we 
find ourselves at the doors of a very plain, but im- 
mense, building, which, large as it is, accommodates 
with difficulty the crowds who flock to hear the great 
preacher. 

Entering, we see that the interior is as conspicuously 
plain as the exterior, with capacity for seating four 
thousand four hundred persons. The pulpit is simply 
a very elevated platform, on which are placed a table 
and a chair. With almost incredible rapidity the 
church becomes packed, taxing to the utmost the efforts 
of the courteous ushers. Turning to one of them, we 
ask if the crowd is always as large. " Oh, yes," is the 
answer ; " although I have rented a pew here for many 
years, I never find a place in it to sit, unless our pastor 
is absent." ^' You experience the inconvenience," we 
say, " of having one of the most popular preachers of 



LONDON. 231 

the day, a man whose reputation is as well established 
in our country, over the sea, as here/^ He seems 
pleased with the assurance, and makes many inquires 
about Beecher, as if associating the two men, as the 
world seems involuntarily to do. 

Seated in a front pew of the gallery, we can com- 
mand a fine view of the entire congregation. It pre- 
sents an interesting study ; a large number are strangers 
from our own land, brought together by a common 
desire to see and hear the man who ^^ sits high in the 
opinion" of the Christian world, whose talents and 
powers, whatever they may be, are never supplemented 
by any oratorical trickery or flourish, no trace of the 
clap-trap sensationalism, of which we believe Beecher 
also to be innocent, but through which a pulpit, near 
bis own, is so shamelessly notorious. 

What a sea of faces ! Could any man stand before 
such an immense audience and not feel intellectual fire 
kindle within him, its sparks lighting up a sympathetic 
enthusiasm in the hearers as well ? Must not an orator 
be stimulated to a species of inspiration as he looks 
down upon a waiting multitude? And if ^^the root 
of the matter'\is in him, does not the glow of spiritual 
life within take on new warmth, as he feeds the hungry 
souls before him with a feast of delectable things ? 
bearing them on the tide of his eloquence to that great 
ocean of thought, — the plan of redemption, — finally 



232 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

bringing them to tlie haven of rest^ the foot of the 
cross, 

A kill^ — eager expectation expressed in attitudes and 
faces, and the preacher enters ! A short, thick -set man, 
of unwieldy proportions and ungainly figure, with a 
face heavy, but not dull ; a brown eye, not naturally 
bright, but lighting up on occasion ; a countenance alto- 
gether expressive of genial benevolence, but, we think, 
not of mental power. After reading the Scripture, ex- 
pounding its meaning at great length, he offers prayer- 
And here is his power manifest. It seems to us that, 
through its earnest reverence of tone, its persuasive 
appeal, its imploring importunity, its sincere but not 
abject humility with its prevailing spirit of worship- 
ful devotion, it must win a heavenly benediction ; nor 
are ours the only moist eyes at its conclusion. Such 
a prayer, one of the most remarkable we have ever 
heard, would plough deep into any heart, however hard 
and sterile, preparing it for the sowing of the seed so 
abundantly scattered by the sermon which follows. 

Ah, what a sermon ! It is based upon the text, 
" Who forgiveth all thine iniquities." Clear, logical, 
and conclusive is his reasonings not beyond the com- 
prehension of the most ordinary mind or of an intelli- 
gent child, but containing the germ of rich thought, 
and showing much originality in its treatment. His 
argument is lucid and systematic, his rhetoric remark- 



LONDON. 233 

able for its simplicity, and his oratory evidently the 
result only of impulse^ the truest guide, and not of pre- 
meditated study. We venture to say that "every head 
with a heart to it, and every heart with a head to it, 
answers to the appeal'^ which closes the never-to-be- 
forgotten sermon. 

Many must be enamored ,of the grace and beauty of 
a good and noble life as he pictures it, and many, too, 
conceive a greater aversion to sin as they listen to his 
vivid portrayal of its penalties and horrors. Like 
Dryden's " Good Parson," " he preaches the joys of 
heaven and pains of hell'^ with a graphic power that 
wins us to the hope of the one and fills us with increased 
dread of the other. 

And yet it is difficult to analyze his power and dis- 
cover wherein lies the secret of his unwaning popu- 
larity. No appeal is ever intentionally made to the 
humorous element of our nature during his discourses, 
and while wit does not tickle, neither is fancy made to 
allure our senses through its charm. His efforts are 
characterized by an intense earnestness, united with a 
full purpose of heart and an unswerving adherence to 
the simple tenets of the most orthodox creed. A keen 

insio^ht into the heart of man, a knowledo^e of its wor Iv- 
es ? o 

ings, gives him the power to attack successfully its 

weakest points, and to " discover to ourselves that of 

ourselves which we knew not of." 

11^ 



234 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

His is a thoroughly well balanced mind and char- 
acter, a remarkably-developed common sense restrain- 
ing him from the commission of those petty follies which 
impair a minister's useftdness, as flaws in the precious 
diamond depreciate its value in the estimation of the 
world. 

His private life— if such a man may be said to have 
one— defies the investigation of even an enemy, and is 
as unblemished and beautiful in its consistency as the 
most carping critic could demand. 

How rarely discovered is such a human jewel, a well- 
rounded character ! An intellect and power deep 
enough to sustain and feed a great reputation year 
after year ; thoughts constantly bubbling forth from 
the unfailing fountain of his heart and mind, which, 
by their clearness, force, and beauty, command the ad- 
miration of the learned as well as the unlettered; a 
will so strong and a principle so well grounded as to 
remain unshaken through the vicissitudes of a com- 
paratively long life, resisting all the temptation which 
assails even the purest soul; a faith so firmly estab- 
lished on the *^ Rock of Ages" as never to be blown 
into those heresies which, to say the least, are innova- 
tions upon the rigorous simplicity and purity of our 
grand creed. 

- With a morbidly sensitive nervous system, over- 
wrought by the exorbitant demands made upon it, and 



HAMPTON COURT. 235 

a body much of the tune tortured by pain, he per- 
forms herculean labors, seeming to act upon the con- 
viction that the harvest-time in which to garner his 
sheaves will be short, seeing probably a cloud in the 
sky which, now no larger than a man's hand, may ere 
long burst in storm upon his devoted head. 

During a personal interview with Mr. Spurgeon we 
discover his social powers and manner to be as charming 
as his pulpit efforts are edifying. 

HAMPTON COURT. 

One of those sunny, exquisite views that memory 
loves often to reproduce, and which defy time's ob- 
literating power, is that of the Thames from Rich- 
mond Terrace. But the vista, so beautiful, opens to 
us many features that help to adorn a landscape. 
Were the soul tempest-tossed, it would learn a lesson 
of repose and peaceful ness that would allay its unrest 
and lull it into a tranquillity such as the eye there 
dwells upon, for we believe that the spirit of every 
lover of E^ature catches its tone and is in harmony 
with it. When shadows fill the sky, dimming its 
brightness, and the air is murky and heavy with 
gloom, is not the spirit burdened and oppressed ? Or 
when the sun lights up the face of Nature with its 
cheerful beams, the atmosphere bright and electric, 
does not the soul catch its glow and reflect its warmth? 



236 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

And should the birds, through whose joyous notes 
Nature expresses her jubilance, fill the air with their 
thrilling melody, the very soul, in sympathetic accord, 
bursts into glad song, the human heart beating in 
unison with the great pulse of Nature^ 

The carriage stops as we reach the favored spot, and 
we alight, the better to enjoy a scene which is consid- 
ered by some to offer one of the finest views of the 
Thames in England. But as the sky is not satisfied 
with its grand luminary, the moon, but calls 4;o its aid 
the auxiliary light of the stars, so Nature to the beau- 
ties of the Thames has added those of meadow, brook, 
hill, and copse, which are not unworthy of bordering 
the train of her graceful sweep. The queenly river 
is seen in the distance meanderinp- throuo;:h the land- 
scape, while between it and us is a pastoral view of 
such beauty as fully vindicates its fame. We look 
upon the rich bordering meadows, where cattle lazily 
browse under the shadow of spreading trees; gentle 
undulations displaying to advantage their beautiful 
green; trees of every shade and many varieties; the 
hawthorn and other shrubs vying with them in lux- 
uriance; and gliding streams embroidering, as with 
silver threads, the velvety green of the pastures. The 
sun, as if jealous of other beautifying influences, seems 
determined to embellish with superb skill a scene so 
fair, and we stand admiring the pencilled lines of light 



HAMPTON COURT. 237 

and shade, observing that the beauty before us is much 
enhanced by the coquettish play of shadow and sun- 
beam. 

Drivins: a mile and a half throug^h the broad avenue 
of Bushey Park, we enjoy the remarkable sight of a 
double row, on each side, of immense horse-chestnut- 
trees. We believe it would be impossible to find 
another such display of trees. 

Hampton Court Palace, at which this avenue ends, 
was built by Cardinal Wolsey, who presented it to 
Henry YIII, It was afterwards a favorite residence 
of Oliver Cromwell, and was enlarged by William 
III. The splendor of the furniture and of the apart- 
ments has faded out, but the paintings, chiefly by 
Benjamin West, are very fine. The grandest apart- 
ment of the palace, we think, is Wolsey's Great Hall. 
This, of Gothic architecture, is noble in size. The 
carving of the ceiling is remarkably intricate and 
beautiful, and the stained glass of the windows is in 
keeping. The Hall is hung with very ancient tapestry, 
representing scenes from the life of Abraham. 

The signs of dilapidation, decay, and forlornness 
pervading this once magnificent apartment, and, in- 
deed, every portion of the interior of the palace, are 
symbolical of the complete ruin and disaster which 
overtook its founder. History hardly affords another 
such example of vaulting ambition, daring assumption 



238 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

of royal state and prerogative, and the extreme arro- 
gance which is their natural outgrowth, as the life of 
this unspiritual prelate exhibits; presenting a drama 
whose gorgeous acts were in such singular contrast to 
the pitiable drop-scene which closed all to human vision. 
What school-boy is not familiar with the pathetic 
words which Shakspeare borrowed from the dying 
utterances of the once hauglity cardinal, when his 
" fallen greatness'^ had succeeded his unparalleled 
prosperity ? 

The gardens are delightful, offering the variety of 
lawn, shaded walks, and flowers, with terraces which 
overlook the river. In a conservatory is to be seen the 
largest grape-vine, it is thought, in the w^orld. It 
measures one hundred and ten feet in tlie extent of its 
branches from the stem ; the principal stem having a 
circumference of nearly thirty inches. It often bears 
three thousand bunches a year, and these are sent to the 
Queen. 

There the fruit hangs in rich, purple clusters. Tan- 
talus-like, we see it swaying before our eyes but 
beyond our grasp. Was Eve tempted thus? Alas! 
if so, she has been too harshly condemned. 

" Will you not sell us at least a leaf of this wonder- 
ful vine as a souvenir?" we plead with the keeper. 
"Oh, no, not for any amount of money ,'^ he replies. 
" I might make my fortune quickly if I accepted all 



HAMPTON COURT. 239 

the bribes offered me ; but, you see, it belongs to the 
Queeii/^ 

Turning from the coveted fruit, we cannot withhold 
our commendation of his incorruptible honesty, which, 
whether it originates from innate principle or from 
policy, we feel sliould be encouraged. 



CHAPTER XVL 

WINDSOR CASTLE— STOKE-POGIS— THE DAIRYMAN'S 
DAUGHTER. 

WINDSOR CASTLE. 

Taking the train at London, we arrive at Windsor 
after an hour's pleasant ride. The castle, as one ap- 
proaches it, presents a grandly imposing appearance, 
being one of the most magnificent royal palaces in the 
world. It is difficult for one unaccustomed to mon- 
archical institutions to associate a home with such a 
mammoth pile. 

As we thread its grand corridors and walk through 
its vast apartments, — almost lost in immensity, — real- 
izing its caj)acity to accommodate the inhabitants of 
an ordinary-sized village, we think that the possessor 
of a cosy home, whose sacred privacy is its chief 
charm ; whose walls are so near that one may realize 
their encircling protection; whose fireside is a snug 
retreat from the weary exactions of social life; where 
one may foster those sweet domestic tastes which seek 
the shade of retirement and avoid the glare of public 
240 



WINDSOR CASTLE, 241 

life, would scarce covet such a home as this and other 
kingly palaces afford ; shrinking from their dreary 
vastness and stately grandeur, for the joys of home-life 
are essentially simj^le in their nature. 

The dining-rooms are grand banqueting-halls ; the 
sleeping-apartments in tlieir loftiness and spaciousness 
suggesting to modesty a desire for the privacy which 
they do not seem to afford. But we remember that 
the occupants were bred amid such scenes, and that 
their tastes may require just such pompous surround- 
ings for their fullest gratification. 

The castle, the embodiment of solidity and vast 
proportions, with its thirteen turrets and round tower 
or keep in the centre ; its elevation, overlooking the 
Thames for many miles; its beautiful terraces, park, 
and gardens, helps to realize our early imaginings of a 
castle palace. 

The chapel in which the royal nuptials are cele- 
brated, and which, from all its associations, must be 
very interesting, is closed for extensive repairs. We 
enjoy, however, the privilege of a visit to the private 
chapel which has been erected by the Queen as a me- 
morial to the Prince Consort. It is ostentatious and 
costly. The floor and walls are formed of a mosaic of 
the richest marbles of many colors, with texts of Scrip- 
ture inserted in each panel. White marble statuary 
and exceedingly beautiful stained glass add to its 



242 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

effective beauty. On a marble bier in the centre of 
the chapel lies the Q^gy of the noble man, who was in 
every way worthy of the affectionate honor paid his 
memory. 

Every patriotic American may well drop a tear at 
the sepulchre of him, who was to our country a 
staunch friend in her hour of need, anticipating, 
through his clear-sighted and far-seeing judgment, in 
the grand result of our conflict, the glorious vindi- 
cation of divine justice and human right. 

Taking a carriage, w^e ride to Eton Hall and view 
its venerable, classic walls. This famous school has 
nurtured much youthful genius which has ripened 
later into splendid maturity, as many distinguished 
men, in the varied professions, have been its pupils. 
The hall, being situated on the opposite side of the 
Thames, forms, with its " distant spires and antique 
towers," a pleasing prospect from the castle. 

Driving farther on, we come to the village of Stoke- 
Pogis, where the poet Gray lived for many years, and 
where he is buried. 

STOKE-POGIS. 

At the close of a busy day, as the sun is filling the 
w^estern sky with its departing glory ; the air full of 
dim shadows; the sweet notes of the birds dying 
away ; all nature sinking into an early repose, we 



STOKE-POGIS. 243 

stand by the little gate which opens into the graveyard 
where Gray wrote his immortal ^' Elegy." It is a 
quiet and impressive scene, all the influences of the 
hour harmonizing with it, and so in accordance with 
the spirit of the poem, that we involuntarily listen 
for "the curfew" to toll "the knell of parting day." 
There is the little church, with its pretty tower, peep- 
ing forth from amid its ivy mantle ;- the vine of lux- 
uriant growth, enfolding the w^hole church wdth its 
tendrils, imparts to the simple architecture a pictu- 
resque beauty which lacks no charm. 

Opposite, and overshadowing the rustic porch, is the 
yew-tree under whose drooping branches w^e stand, 
recalling to mind the exquisite poem which had de- 
lighted our childhood, and which, unlike most youthful 
tastes, has not lost in maturer life its sweet flavor. 
Surrounding us are the "narrow cells" of the "rude 
forefathers." Conspicuous among them is the tomb of 
the poet who made this rural little graveyard an object 
of tender regard to the world. It is of plain brick, 
covered with a slab of slate, on which is the following 
inscription, written by Gray, in memory of his mother 
and aunt, whose death preceded his : 

" In the vault beneath are deposited, in hope of a joj^ful resur- 
rection, the remains of Mary Antrobus. She died unmarried, 
Nov. 5th, 1749, aged sixty-six. In the same pious confidence, 
beside her friend and sister, here sleep the remains of Dorothy 



244 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Gray, widow ; the tender, careful mother of many children, one 
of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her. She died 
March 11th, 1753, aged sixty-seven." 

A tablet inserted in the wall of the church, opposite 
the tomb, records the fact that the poet also is buried 
here, l^ear the churchyard stands a monument erected 
to his memory. It is of freestone, consisting of a sar- 
cophagus supported upon a square pedestal. On each 
side are inscriptions taken from his poems. 

With lingering step we walk down the narrow path 
lined on each side by lowly mounds ; and, leaning over 
the little gate, strive to photograph on heart and memory 
the sweet and lovely picture. The simple beauty of the 
scene is heightened by its quiet seclusion. No noisy 
hum of human voices disturbs the " solemn stillness" of 
the dead, whose very dust is so sacred ; no busy haunts 
of men crowd upon the view ; only the natural beauty 
of the green-spreading " lea," the venerable trees, the 
circling hedges, and an occasional i^retty cottage, meeting 
the eye. 

THE dairyman's DAUGHTER. 

Taking a carriage at Yentnor, on the Isle of Wight, 
we drive to iJ^ewport, making a detour to visit the 
cottage of the '^ Dairyman's Daughter" at Arreton, and 
the graveyard beyond, where she lies buried. 

We fall into a pleasing revery as we ride through 



THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 245 

the quiet country roads, bordered on both sides by arable 
fields enclosed by green hawthorn hedges. And here 
let us testify to this pretty feature in the English land- 
scape, as being infinitely preferable to our own unpic- 
turesque rail fences. 

We think of the strangeness of our mission : for 
weeks and months we have journeyed, turning here 
and there aside to visit some renowned spot memorable 
in the history of the country and of the world ; many 
grand cathedrals, superb in architecture, and wondrous 
in age ; many storied ruins which have withstood the 
havoc of time, and are standing in mute eloquence to 
tell of the grandeur and opulence of former ages ; and 
many palaces of royalty, glittering in gold and orna- 
ment, yet cheerless in their vastness. Many times, 
too, have we stood by the ostentatious monuments of 
the dead, w^hose living celebrity finds commemoration 
in death through the display of richest marble shaped 
by rare skill. But now we, in common with others, are 
seeking a grave so humble that one must look sharply 
to find it; no marble sarcophagus, or imposing pillar of 
granite, distinguishing it above the simple slabs mark- 
ing the surrounding mounds ; the grave, too, of a lowly 
uneducated girl, w-hose humble home, a few miles distant, 
is also a shrine for the pilgrim. 

What a triumph is this for truth and piety ! As we 
bow reverently over the slumbering dead, we are pay- 



246 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

ing our humble tribute to the grandeur of tlmt Chris- 
tian faith which found such powerful exemplification 
in the character of the humble ^^ Dairyman's Daughter/' 
The name of the dead, and the respective dates of her 
birth and death, are preceded by the following lines 
written by her honored biographer, Legh Kichmond : 

" Stranger ! if e'er, by chance or feeling led, 
Upon this hallowed turf thy footsteps tread, 
Turn, tljink on her whose spirit rests with God. 
Lowly her lot on earth, but He who bore 
Tidings of grace and blessings to the poor 
Gave her this truth and faithfulness, to prove 
The choicest treasures of His boundless love — 
Faith, that dispelled affliction's darkest gloom ; 
Hope, that could cheer the passage to the tomb ; 
Peace, that not Hell's dark regions could destroy ; 
And love, that filled the soul with heavenly joy ; 
Death, of its sting disarmed, she knew no fear. 
But tasted Heaven e'en while she lingered here. 
O happy saint ! may we, like thee, be blest, 
In life be faithful, and in death find rest !" 

Filled with solemn thought, we turn away and enter 
the plain old church, which is enclosed within the 
small graveyard; here the pew is pointed out where 
the youthful saint sat beneath the eye of that earnest 
exponent of gospel truth, her pastor at one time, and 
subsequently her biographer. 

The cottage where her simple life was passed is of 



THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 247 

very humble construction ; low, with a thatched roof, 
and covered still with clambering vines, which festoon 
the small windows, darkening the little family room, 
into which the front door opens. A shed attached to 
one end of the cottage, where the dairyman sheltered 
the few cows which afforded him his meagre support, 
still offers protection to ^^ lowly kine." We open the 
little wicket-gate and ascend the walk which leads to 
the cottage. Homely domestic plants line the simple 
flagging and fill the narrow flower-beds beside the door 
at which we knock. We wait long, trembling lest our 
pilgrimage should prove unsuccessful, and then, repeat- 
ing our rap, hear unwilling steps approach from within. 
An old woman opens narrowly the door and scans us 
ungraciously. We tell her we have come from far to 
see the home of the '^ Dairjniian's Daughter," and hope 
she will gratify us, expressing our willingness to com- 
pensate her for the trouble. " No," she says ; "hun- 
dreds come here to see the house, and I am not -well, 
and have decided that I will refuse everybody." See- 
ing the disappointment her words produce, she relents 
so far as to say, " You can look in this room if you 
like," stepping aside that we may see, without giving 
us the opportunity of entering. 

It is a small, square apartment, with very low ceil- 
ing, and having the ordinary appearance of a cottager's 
family room. Gladly would we mount the narrow 



248 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

stairs to the chamber wliere the almost sainted spirit 
" exhaled its flight to heaven/' believing that the cham- 
ber where the pious soul meets its fate 

" Is privileged beyond the common walks 
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven." 

And although the pure presence of her who made 
this place sacred by association has long since fled^ yet 
the aroma of a good life lingers like the perfume of a 
rare rose long after its leaves have withered and died. 
Sanctity seems to pervade the place, and it is almost 
prayerfully that we turn from the humble shrine, 
plucking a leaf from the vine which shelters the little 
window. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

OXFORD — KENILWORTII — H ADDON HALL — CIIATS- 
WOETH. 

OXFORD. 

Oxford owes its celebrity chiefly to the University, 
which is one of the most famed institutions for learning, 
not only in England, but of the world. To be a grad- 
uate of Oxford, or of Cambridge as well, is a literary 
distinction of which England's greatest men are proud, 
their honors ennobling any name. 

The city is situated at the confluence of the two rivers 
Isis and Cherwell, and near the Thames ; their waters 
affording facilities for the indulgence of boating exer- 
cise, so dear to collegiate youths in these days; some, 
it is to be feared, engaging more eagerly in those 
aquatic sports than in slaking thirst at the fountain 
of knowledge. The large extent of beautiful rich 
tneadow-land which lies between the rivers and the 
3ity affords pretty rural views for the book-wearied 
syes of the students to rest upon; for how grateful to 
Bye and brain is it, when both are " worn and hard 

12 249 



250 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

beset/' to gaze upon the sweet repose and fresh bright 
face of Nature ! How oft, when the mind is wearied, 
the memory burdened, the thought perplexed, and the 
mental vision dimmed with the arduous study Avhich 
also brings " weariness to the flesh,'' is rest obtained, 
and even inspiration Avon, in walking abroad in the 
woods, '^ whose very air is holy"! in looking upon the 
dewy freshness of leaf and grass and upon broad flow- 
ering meadows, Nature's easel, where the colors, richly 
combined, bring brightness to the spirit and delight to 
the eye ! 

As the University comprises nineteen colleges and 
five halls, we think it best to visit two of the most 
prominent; selecting, by advice, Magdalen and Christ 
Colleges as representative ones. Each college and hall 
forms a separate establishment of itself, having its own 
students and teachers, and yet all are subject to the 
government of the University, Its origin is lost in 
obscurity, many supposing that it was founded by that 
good and wise king and patron of letters, Alfred the 
Great. Some fix its date considerably later ; but, how- 
ever this may be, that its extreme age entitles it to our 
reverence none can doubt. 

We find the classic halls deserted, as the summer's 
vacation is yet in progress, and therefore, being ap- 
parently " monarchs of all we survey," we linger long 
amid scenes to which time itself has given distinction, 



OXFORD. 251 

and with which we can associate mucli of the talent 
which for centuries has adorned the hterature, parlia- 
ment^ and pulpit of England. 

The college buildings form a quadrangle, the stu- 
dents' apartments being around it. As we enter the 
court of Magdalen College, we are surprised into gen- 
eral exclamation : the air is literally burdened with the 
perfume of the sweet-brier; never were we conscious 
of odor more heavy and pervading. Stepping forward, 
a pretty, picturesque little view presents itself. We 
penetrate into the inner court, and there, entwining 
each pillar and interlacing the spaces, is the sweet-brier 
whose delicious fragrance ministered to our delight ere 
we had discovered its source. The luxuriant vine gives 
grace to the quaint old architecture of the ornamented 
walls, which throw their shadow upon a plat of pretty 
green grass. 

The dining-hall shown us is really very elegant, the 
wainscoting of richly-polished walnut; fine portraits 
embellishing its surface. The professor's table, occupy- 
ing one end of the dining-room, is placed on a raised 
platform, the students' tables occupying the niain floor. 

The grounds pertaining to this college, including a 
deer-park, are more beautiful and extensive than those 
belonging to any other. We hasten to see the shaded 
avenue which is said to have been the favorite walk of 
Addison while a student here. We notice particularly 



^52 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the luxuriant growth of the hawthorn, equalling that 
of a full-sized tree, and many other rich varieties of 
foliage. We can imagine that the contemplative mind 
of the graceful essayist would find congenial influences 
amid such natural beauties as here feasted his eyes and 
soul, his gentle spirit, refined thought, and cultivated 
mind seeking nutriment from Nature's inexhaustible 
sources. Who, indeed, has ever drained them, or, hun- 
gering and thirsting for divine knowledge, spiritual 
strength, or mental suggestion, has left her grand cathe- 
dral, with its spired trees, towering hills, and dome of 
blue, that did not feel elevated by the worship, armed 
for life's moral conflicts, and equipped for intellectual 
victories ? 

As the Magdalen is the most beautiful and pictu- 
resque, so Christ College is the largest and grandest. 
Its chapel, dating from 1154, is very curious in its 
ancient tombs, and elegant in its more modern features. 
Its architecture is chiefly Norman-Gothic, although 
many later styles have been introduced. 

Riding through the old city, our driver halts, and, 
pointing to a stone in the middle of a street, declares it 
to be the identical spot where the aged martyrs Latimer 
and Ridley were burned at the stake. The flat stone 
inserted there to identify the spot is in the shape of a 
cross. Farther on, in St. Giles Street, is the " Martyrs' 
Memorial." Unfortunately, the narrowness of the street 



KENIL WORTH. 253 

in which they so heroically met their cruel fate would 
not admit of the erection of the grand monument. Its 
inscription includes the name of Cranmer, who was 
subjected to a similar martyrdom six months later. 

A remarkable fact in connection with the death of 
Latimer and Ridley is related in history of Bishop 
Gardiner^ whose animosity towards these saintly men 
was such that he declared on the day of their death 
that he would not dine, until he received information 
that fire was set to the fagots with which they were to 
be burned. 

The information not reaching him as soon as expected, 
the Duke of I^orfolk, who was his guest that day, was 
compelled to wait for his dinner from eleven o'clock, 
the usual dinner-hour, until three o'clock. But the 
wicked, bigoted bishop was destined not to partake of 
the dinner, for when it was served, on the arrival of 
the longed-for intelligence, he was taken suddenly ill, 
and, being put to bed, soon died. 

KENILWOKTH. 

So successful was Walter Scott in investing Kenil- 
worth Castle, through his delightful novel, with romantic 
charm, that while preparing to visit its famous ruins we 
find scenes from the sad history of Amy Bobsart are 
floatino; on our minds and becomino; entano;led in our 
thoughts. 



254 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

In tracing the origin of the castle we learn that it 
was founded by Geoffrey de Clinton, chamberlain and 
treasurer to Henry I. Most of the buildings now ex- 
tant were erected by John of Gaunt, father of Henry 
IV. Continuing in possession of the crown, Elizabeth 
bestowed it upon Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, 
who is said to have expended sixty thousand pounds 
upon its enlargement and decoration, and with fabulous 
munificence to have entertained here his enamored 
sovereign and her court for seventeen days. 

What must this princely abode and ancient strong- 
hold have been in the days of its prime, when now in 
its decay it commands our wondering admiration, 
astonishing us with its mammoth proportions and 
remains of architectural beauty ! 

So formidable is the entrance that, as we apply for 
admittance, we almost expect to be challenged by an 
armed sentry; instead of which a meek-eyed woman 
opens the portals to us. Passing through, we soon con- 
front the grand mass of ruinSe What a tale they tell 
of ancient prowess and grandeur! Built on a knoll, 
they are the more imposing. Caesar's tower, or the 
keep, stands on one side, and, being compact, solid, and 
intact, looks grand in its strength. There it has stood 
for ages, frowning down upon the peaceful village and 
smiling landscape^ Its walls are of almost incredible 
thickness, and are completely covered with a vine whose 



KENIL WORTH. 255 

root is of a size we never saw equalled in the ivy. 
The central ruin consists mainly of the banqueting'-hall, 
whose architectural ornamentation is the greatest attrac- 
tion of the ruins. The lofty casements, curtained by 
drooping vines, are exquisite in symmetry and grace. 
As we gaze upon these relics of bygone splendor, invol- 
untarily we repeople the deserted banquet-hall with the 
old-time chivalry and with the grace and beauty of the 
court, A glittering pageant flashes upon our view, — 
the haughty earl, host to the virgin queen, leading with 
her the courtly train ; a brilh'ant company in dazzling 
array, representing the highest nobility of the land ; 
gay courtiers and high-born dames with stately tread 
brush past; and penetrating the royal scene our fancy 
has conjured, comes the thought of the unhappy Amy 
left in the neighboring town by her faithful escort, 
Hamilton. 

But we are rudely restored to our identity by the 
summons to clamber up a flight of stairs that one of 
our party has discovered, resuming as hastily as may 
be our role of modern tourist. The interior of the 
remainder of the castle fails to reward prolonged in- 
spection, for, having been built originally as a strong- 
hold, it seems truly more like a fortress than a palace- 
home. 

How strange indeed it is that Elizabeth, who dis- 
played so much masculine strength and decision of 



256 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

character in the administration of public affairs, who 
proved lier penetrating sagacity in the choice of her 
prime ministers and other officers of government, adopt- 
ing so sound a policy in her monarchical relations, 
exercising so wise and beneficent a judgment as to win 
the admiring approval of the world then, and the more 
dispassionate verdict of all time since, should have 
proved herself to be the loeakest of ivomen in matters 
of the heart! The history of her emotional experience 
evinces a positive craving for love and its joys, and 
had it not been for the equally marked love of power, 
■ — and between these rival desires there was a constant 
struggle and conflict,— she would have probably mar- 
ried one of the three noblemen npon whom she lavished 
her regard. And, after all, did not the feminine ele- 
ment of her nature prevail in the end, when, ambition 
forgotten, affairs of state neglected, womanly dignity 
laid aside, self-respect, even, forfeited, she literally died 
of a remorse born of love? 

Is not woman always happier as queen in the home- 
life, — her kingdom, the family circle ; her sceptre, the 
wand of love ; her loving subjects, the children whose 
early will she is to control, character to mould, mind to 
cultivate, and heart to sow with seed that shall sjDring 
up, blossom, and bear rich fruit for time and for 
eternity? 



H ADDON HALL AND CHATSWORTH. 257 

HADDON HALL AND CHATSWORTH. 

" Look on this picture, then on that." 

Hacldon Hall and Chats worth are representative 
illustrations of the homes of the powerful and rich of 
olden and of modern times. The former is a remark- 
ably preserved baronial castle, built in the reign of 
Edward III. Soon after the Conquest it came into 
possession of the Vernon family, whose last male de- 
scendant died in the seventh year of Queen Elizabeth's 
reign. Haddon then fell into the hands of the family 
of Manners, whom the Duke of Rutland now repre- 
sents. It occupies a bold, elevated position, and is an 
absorbing object in the landscape. 

At the foot of the hill on which it is built is the 
humble but pretty cottage in which the custodian of the 
castle lives. While waiting for the attendant to don 
her fashionably-made panniered dress, we examine the 
exterior of the colossal structure. It seems in its 
strength able to resist the most belligerent assailants, 
and we contrast the domestic experiences of its original 
occupants/ who were compelled to live within en- 
trenched walls of such massive thickness as would 
repel armed hosts, and to challenge each comer as 
though he were a foe, with the peaceful serenity of 
present home-life, when the English nobleman may 
*' live under his own vine and fig-tree,'' ^^ with none to 

12* 



258 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

molest or make hi m afraid;'^ no watchman necessary 
to give hasty warning of the approaching enemy ; and 
instead of soldierly retainers, liveried servants; and 
in lieu of bristling walls of impregnable strength, the 
beautiful flowering hedge, offering no bar, but embel- 
lishing the fields it encloses with its simple blossom 
and pretty green. 

The somewhat elaborate toilet of the guide com- 
pleted, she appears with keys in hand, inviting us to 
an inspection of the curious old castle. First we are 
shown a little room where, on a rude wooden table, are 
a pair of clumsy, heavy long boots, which, tradition 
affirms, once encased the legs of that rugged soldier — 
and, we believe, honest patriot — Oliver Cromwell. 
This small room, somewhat apart from the main build- 
ing, is thought to have been occupied by the priest of 
the household. Why this sacred appendage to the 
establishment was needed it is difficult to determine, 
unless the clerical wink and convivial aid in their riot- 
ous bacchanalian revelries gave spiritual sanction to 
their excesses ! 

Farther on we enter the chapel, merely an ordinary 
apartment with a plain ancient pulpit and rough 
wooden benches. We visit next the large rambling 
kitchen, noting particularly its crude arrangements. A 
large, round block covered with deep indentations, just 
such as is used now by butchers; fireplaces large enough 



CHA TS WOR TH. 259 

to roast whole oxen, which we read were necessary to 
supply the daily demands of the garrison-like families 
who occupied the castles of olden times. A ve7'y large 
receptacle for holding salt completes the contents of the 
kitchen. Contiguous to it is the banqueting-hall. 
Oh, how rough and crude its appointments ! 

Near the door, on the wall, is an iron ring, in which 
the arm of him who failed to drink his allotted share 
of the " good cheer" was upheld, while cold water was 
poured down his sleeve until he would promise to drink 
that portion which he had neglected to imbibe at table. 

After wandering through long series of chambers 
above, bare, desolate, and despoiled, we turn away, glad 
that the ancient landmark has been spared to grace the 
landscape, but thankful that the march of civilization 
has improved domestic habits, lives, and homes, so that 
now we may enjoy those refining influences, such as 
will, in their highest development, be found in the 
modern residence of the Duke of Devonshire. 

CHATSWORTH 

is the famed country-seat of the Duke of Devonshire. 
We ride for a Ioup; time throuo;h a vast area of coun- 
try — uncultivated, apparently lying waste — belonging 
to this powerful and wealthy family. 

Land-monopoly is the great curse of this fair coun- 
try. A relic of feudal times, it is not consistent with 



260 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the inarch of intelligent progress. Now that the evils 
of the law of entail are being recognized by some of 
its very subjects, we feel that perhaps, even in our own 
time, the many idle hands of the worthy poor will be 
guiding the plough over the waste soil now in the pos- 
session of the few, winning sustenance from its re- 
sources for the general good. 

As the masses are the substrata of social life, under- 
lying the upper crust, we believe that a recognition by 
them of the great national evil will, by producing an 
agitation, shake tlie foundation and cause to crumble, 
and finally overthrow, an institution so disastrous to 
the welfare of the majority. Any national error preju- 
dicing the interests of the masses is like a sore on the 
body politic, which, festering and gathering force, will 
sooner or later burst, and exuding from its core the 
corruption, will finally heal the nation of that which 
impedes its progress toward a healthful national pros- 
perity. What nation oblivious of those evils which 
retard the progress of the people towards independ- 
ence and proprietorship, forcing them into conditions 
depressing and impoverishing, withholding from them 
means of self-elevation and ambitious enterprise, ever 
attained to the perfection of national prosperity, great- 
ness, and self-sustenance ? 

" 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
"Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 



CHATSWORTH. 261 

Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade : 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
"When once destroyed can never be supplied." 

Arrived at Chatswortb, we find entrance abundantly 
allowed to ourselves and many others. Several neatly- 
dressed and intelligent young women conduct tlie vis- 
itors through suites of stately apartments^ embellished 
with works of art such as usually adorn royal palaces ; 
paintings, valuable as portraits of historical characters, 
or as works of the old masters and of leading modern 
artists. We are also permitted to enjoy a fine gallery 
of sculpture. 

The family chapel of this princely residence is elab- 
orately decorated through its frescoed ceilings and in 
its rich panelled carvings; the beauty of stained glass 
and marble contributing to its perfect adornment. We 
marvel at the luxuriousness of these accessories to pri- 
vate family worship, yet heartily approve them, for we 
believe there should be a harmony of outward condi- 
tion with the grace, concord, and beauty of the spirit- 
ual nature. 

While the sincere worshipper needs no external cir- 
cumstance to prompt his devotion, yet his whole nature 
recognizes and rejoices in those surroundings and influ- 
ences that, in sympathy with his religious emotions, 
cannot fail to stimulate and enhance the enjoyment of 



262 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

their exercisGo Milton, whose pious thought seems to 
have been almost inspired, and whose w^orship was in- 
stinctive and sincere, most happily expresses the effect 
of those aesthetic forms of beauty that, through the 
eye, minister to the soul, and those subtile influences 
which, through the ear, soften and often subdue tlie 
heart : 

'' I love the high embowed roof, 

With antic pillars massy proof, 

And storied windows richly dight, 

Casting a dim religious light. 

There let the pealing organ blow . 

To the full-voiced choir below. 

In service high and anthems clear. 

As may with sweetness through my ear 

Dissolve me into ecstasies, 

And bring all heaven before my eyes." 

The conservatory and gardens are among the most 
celebrated in England. The former is three hundred 
feet long by one hundred and forty-five feet wide, and 
occupies an area of about an acre. It is filled with 
rare and exquisite plants, and even trees have been 
imported from their distant native soil. Every clime 
seems to have contributed of its flowering wealth to fill 
this conservatory with bewildering charm. The eye is 
feasted with richest color, while Araby's gardens have 
helped to burden the air with their perfume. The air 
simulating through artificial means that of the native 



CHATS WORTH. 263 

clime of these fair daughters of the soil, and the sun's 
beamSj through the glass, being so bright, perhaps they 
are deluded into the belief that they are basking in the 
rays of a torrid sun. Roses blush beneath its fervid 
kiss, and lilies pale under its ardent gaze ; while trees, 
vines, and bushes drop prodigally their luscious treas- 
ures. 

" The gardens next our admiration call." 

They are planned and arranged scientifically, art 
often superseding nature ; no natural 

" Wildness to perplex the scene. 

•55- * * -H- 4(- * 

Grove nods at grove, 
Each alley has a brother." 

Perhaps some would enjoy more that simplicity of 
nature which is here exchanged for the rigid forms of 
artificial system. 

A great curiosity is in the form of a willow made of 
iron, but so perfect an imitation of a natural tree that 
as we look upon it, apparently growing out of the soil, 
we can scarce be made to believe that it is a product 
of human skill. A sly touch of the guide's hand upon 
a hidden spring, and every leaf is made to send forth a 
delicate spray of w^ater, the tree bursting into tears; 
literally a weeping willoiu I 



CHAPTER XVIII. 
STRATFORD-ON-AYON. 

Stratford-on-Avon, however suggestive of beauty- 
its name may be, possesses no other attraction to its 
visitors than its association with and memorials of the 
most marvellous poet and dramatist that the world has 
ever known. 

It is evening, long after the heavens have hung out 
their lights to guide just such travellers as we, that, 
alighting from the car, we wend our way to the "inn,'' 
where we propose to '^ take our ease'' for the night. It 
is with almost shame that the next morning we ac- 
knowledge ourselves to have enjoyed a most common- 
place sleep, unvisited by dreams, although we had 
thought that " the very gods would show us a vision" 
under such circumstances. Within a few steps from our 
inn is the house which the Fates chose to be the birth- 
place of a genius so brilliant that its light has dazzled 
the world ; of a poetic fire whose glow has never died 
out, but burns still, and ever will, that it may warm the 
souls of all posterity. Awaking from our prosaic slum- 
bers, we arise the next morning to realize the longings 
264 



STRA TFORD- ON- A VON. 265 

of years, to visit the haunts of the boyhood and early 
manhood, and — alas ! the terminus of all — the grave of 
Nature's most gifted son. Ah ! why is it that she is 
so prodigal of her bounty to some and so niggardly to 
others ? Would not the world be brighter and happier 
were the aspirations measurably attained, of those who 
feel themselves beggars in intellect ? if Nature's stamp 
of royalty was impressed upon their brow ; their intel- 
lect broadened, expanded, elevated ; their talent com- 
manding in its sphere and regal in its power? It is, 
we know, only certain souls that hunger after a higher 
earthly attainment ; to such, having a fellow-feeling, we 
would say that, were they to reach the stand-point they 
now long for, they would still be restless in their desires ; 
their ambition, o'ervaulting itself, refusing to be satis- 
fied with any earthly development. And is not heaven 
made more inviting, that there, and there only, will be 
experienced, if not the absolute fruition, the prog7'essive 
condition, which must satisfy the intensest hunger and 
thirst of our spiritual nature ? Here the seed is sown, 
and in some cases, as in his whose immortal reputation 
w^e have come to honor, the tender leaf, ay, even the 
fragrant blossom, is revealed in all its rich luxuriance to 
an admiring world. But 'tis reserved for the garden 
of Paradise, with its ripening influences and in the light 
and warmth of the Creator's presence, to show forth 
the fruit of intellectual and spiritual growth. 



266 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

The house in which Shakspcare spent the latter 
years of his life, and in which he died, has been ruth- 
lessly destroyed; but the humble, even mean, little 
wooden cottage where he was born, with its lowly roof, 
quaint windows, and porched door, is in itself, we think, 
a pleading relic of a time long gone by, and in connec- 
tion with its associations is unsurpassed in, as it were, a 
sanctified charm» We knock, and are promptly admitted 
by a lady, whose refinement and education vindicate her 
claim to the title. She and her sister, — both elderly, — - 
long since reduced from affluence to penury, have been 
wisely chosen and appointed to the delicate task of 
guiding visitors to the different apartments of the 
house, explaining very fully and lucidly the uses of 
what is seen, and giving information not to be found in 
books, but gleaned from traditionary sources familiar 
to the town. The street door opens into the family 
room, within whose wide fireplace is a crude stone seat, 
upon which we are invited to sit a moment, as it had 
been the favorite lounging-place of the boy poet. We 
accept the invitation, trying to imagine with what 
dreamy intentness he had gazed upon the glowing em- 
bers, each coal invested with some bright fancy ; weird 
creations springing out of the flickering flames; spark- 
ling visions of the future dancing before him, even as 
the sparks flew upward. We saunter into the outer 
rooms, and then, mounting the narrow, steep stairs, are 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 267 

shown the room where the great spirit was ushered into 
a world which was, ere many years, to resound with 
his praises. We step softly into the chamber where the 
tender infant soul had blossomed into life, and where 
the wonderful " man-child" had first blessed his mother's 
eyes. We stand gazing and dreaming ; had the fortu- 
nate mother, while that little life was throbbing beneath 
her heart, any prescience of the giant powers there in 
embryo ? And when the first cry gladdened her ears, 
had she a thought that the voice would, by its utter- 
ances, delight and astonish all Christendom for all time ? 
But we are aroused from our revery by an invitation 
to step into the museum, where are collected many me- 
mentos of Shakspeare's early life. Perhaps what 
interests us most is a heavy, clumsy, wooden desk, dis- 
figured by all sorts of boyish hieroglyphics, deep punc- 
tures, and rude carvings; showing that the hands of 
the young student had been no less busy than the brain 
teeming with the wealth of thought and fancy. This 
is the desk used by Shakspeare when at the grammar- 
school, which is subsequently pointed out to us ; a long, 
low, rambling building situated on one of the principal 
streets of the town. And now, after visiting the house 
of his birth and home of his early years, and the school 
where " the young idea was taught to shoot,'' — although 
it took a wider range than the village pedagogue could 
follow, — and the site of the house which he built upon 



268 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

his final return to the home of his youth, we saunter 
on to the church where his remains have been allowed 
to rest in peace. It is beautifully situated on the banks 
of the Avon, whose murmur, like " a low, perpetual 
hymn,'' seems to soothe into profounder repose the 
slumbering dead. Large and umbrageous trees form a 
short broad avenue to the church. Their branches, 
meeting and intermingling, exclude the glare of the 
sun. 'Tis fitting that Nature should cast a dim light 
over the place, for there is a sacred tenderness hirking 
in sweet shadows which comports more fully with the 
associations of such a scene than does the full blaze of 
a radiant sunlight. In it there is a sparkling gladness ; 
but we find the quiet, sequestered shade of her protect- 
ing foliage harmonious with a sad or dreamy spirit. 

We enter the church, and are pleased to see that the 
morning service is in progress ; the curate and the re- 
sponding clerk kneel side by side, while two ladies form 
the congregation. We noiselessly steal into our seats, 
and, with a peculiar pleasure, join in the prayers ; not 
unconscious, however, that the bust of the great man, 
whose tomb we have come to visit, is beaming benig- 
nantly upon us. The bust is placed in a niche in the 
wall above the marble slab inserted in the pavement 
below, on which are inscribed the following curious 
words, said to have been written by Shakspeare him- 
self: 



STRA TFORD- ON- A VON. 269 

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare 
To dig the dust enclosed here. 
Blest be he who spares these stones, 
And curst be he who moves my bones." 

His wife and favorite daughter lie beside him, their 
names inscribed upon tablets like his own. We linger 
long upon the favored spot, bearing away with us a 
tiny spray of the vine which clings lovingly to the 
outside wall of the church. 

It is to be supposed that a man who would make of 
his imaginary characters such irresistible lovers must 
have employed in his own behalf the delicate skill of 
which he was master. There was, then, an episode in 
his life whose traces we are inclined to explore. The 
home of Anne Hathaway, who became the wife of the 
poet, is situated in a neighboring parish. " You must 
go across the fields a long way," is the direction given 
us ; and undaunted we wend our way through " green 
pastures and beside still waters," that we may lay a 
flower on the altar of love. And perhaps — we 
think — we are treading in the footsteps of the lover 
Avho has so eloquently pictured love and charm, that 
bachelors have sighed with envy, and maidens have 
wished " that heaven had made them such a man." 

On we wander, through pastoral scenes, climbing 
over many a stile, until, on crossing a pretty stream 
whose babbling waters seem to whisper something of 



270 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the old-time love, we find ourselves beside a little 
rustic gate. This opens into the garden of the house 
with which is associated so much of romance. The 
cottage is in itself a prominent feature,— a long, low 
building, whose thatched roof, its chimney from which 
smoke is wreathing, its little windows, and tiny porch, 
give it the pleasing aspect of a cosy, humble home. 
We are admitted by an old woman who lives in the 
house, and who claims to be a descendant of the Hath- 
away family. ;;.,M.^H CA\^9?> " 

On entering the cottage we are introduced into the 
family room, where all associations are concentrated, 
as here the once humble lover, but afterwards the 
illustrious husband, was wont to be entertained. Be- 
side the mammoth fireplace stands a plain, rude, 
wooden bench, on which, in all probability, the wooing 
was accomplished. Its original position had been on 
the small porch, under a clambering vine, where the 
moon, — the favorite luminary of lovers, — with her 
pretty young sisters, the stars, could, with their tender 
light, brighten love's sweet dream. But so successful 
have been the attacks made upon it by the pocket- 
knives of tourists, that, to secure its protection from 
unscrupulous collectors of souvenirs, it has been placed 
under the immediate supervision of the custodian of 
the cottage, the garrulous old lady who entertained us. 
The floor of the room is composed of stone flagging ; 



STRA TFORD ON-A VON. 271 

the low ceiling of large beams; the capacious cup- 
board occupying one side of the wall affording oppor- 
tunity for the display of such ware as a humble 
housekeeper can boast. The wainscoting around the 
room is such as is rarely seen in the humbler houses of 
olden times, and is one index of the superiority of the 
circumstances and social position of the Hathaway 
family, whose homestead this cottage is proved to have 
been. They were probably farmers of the better class, 
as papers are still extant showing them to have been 
well-to-do land-owners and tillers of the soil. 

The book, in which the old woman requests us to 
inscribe our names, contains those of several of the 
loved bards of our own native land, who had come to 
honor the memory of their brother poet. She proudly 
exhibits an ancient Bible in which the names of several 
of her remote ancestors are inscribed, but ^tis evident 
that their history and connection with the poet's wife 
are difficult to define. The mists of time have obscured 
much that would be of interest now, and but little light 
can be brought to bear upon circumstances connected 
with the early life and domestic experience of Shak- 
speare. That the woman of liis choice was fair and 
comely, with a nature correspondingly attractive, wdio 
that is familiar with his conception of the female charac- 
ter can doubt? He has attributed to woman w^eaknesses, 
'tis true; but would she be charming without them? 



272 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Failings, but how oft ^^ tliey lean to virtue's side" ! 
We all know tliat some of his feminine creations have 
become immortalized; shining, as they do, with all the 
virtues which give lustre to womanhood; with those 
gifts which crown her intellect; those attributes that 
show her to be of full, rich soul, capable of unselfish 
devotion ; unassailable chastity ; affection disinterested 
and undying; fortitude unflinching; dignity serene 
and lofty; yet with a humanity so sweet, a pliability 
so winning, a temper so gentle, that the author must, 
Pygmalion-like, have become enamored of his own 
creation ; delighted with his success in representing 
w^omanhood pure, while warmly emotional ; gifted, yet 
unassuming; dignified, yet sweetly gracious; strong, 
yet lovely in her weakness, — women to be won ; crea- 
tures ^4iot too bright or good for human nature's daily 
food." We have no reason to believe, however, that 
the mental gifts of Anne Hathaway were above medi- 
ocrity; nor need we wonder at this, when we remember 
that the majority of men of genius and vast intellectual 
endowment have married women of very ordinary 
calibre and attainments. Perhaps it is that they seek 
a foil in the indifferent, and sometimes vapid, intellect, 
dull wit, and undeveloped sentiment of their wives, 
that their own superior minds and brilliant parts may 
shine the more conspicuously. Or is it, that longing — 
as man's heart ever does — for home, its domestic ties 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 273 

and joys, and believing that a high development of 
woman's intellectual nature would divert her thouo-ht 
and absorb her time to the detriment of '^ household 
good," they prefer the prosaic worker and skilful house- 
wife to the sympathetic, literary companion ? But man 
is not driven to a choice of this alternative, since the 
happy combination is often found of a woman of fine 
natural powers which have been richly cultivated, with 
a heart gifted with a capacity for the enjoyment of 
home-life. 

Is not such a woman the better fitted for the high 
and holy office of motherhood ? and do not intelli- 
gence and mental culture imjiart a greater charm to 
\ovQ, helping to feed the flame aglow in the heart, adding 
piquancy and stimulus to its indulgence? 

A well-stored mind, a bright and sparkling wit, will 
greatly aid a wife in beguiling the leisure of an erudite 
husband ; and while her literary culture enables her to 
be a sympathetic companion in h\?> graver pursuits, her 
feminine fancy will, like the sunshine, play around his 
pathway, brightening and amusing his lighter hours. 

We would fain believe that the woman of Shak- 
speare's choice was sufficiently intelligent to appreciate 
the marvellous genius of her husband, and that while 
he poured into her ear his pretty conceits, almost in- 
spired conceptions, and philosophic conclusions, she 
listened with proud and sympathetic enthusiasm. We 

13 



274 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

can imagine that as he read to her his impassioned 
storied love, she was borne along on the overwhelming 
tide of his eloquent thought, feeling wooed and won 
again with the heroine of his play. 

Before turning away from the humble cottage, we 
accept the invitation to drink from the well, whose cool 
waters had so often quenched the thirst of the poet- 
lover. 

As we wander back to the inn, we mentally contem- 
plate the character and ponder upon the works of the 
great man. A mind so comprehensive ; a wit so spark- 
ling; a philosophy so profound; a knowledge of the 
human heart so searching, so intuitive, that it would 
seem he had discovered the most secret springs of 
action, the subtlest sources of human feeling; di- 
vining all those mysteries of the soul which, to other 
minds, have been past finding out. With what vivid 
power has he described the anguish of the tortured 
soul; the frenzy of rage; the tumult of unholy pas- 
sion ; the sweet, tender joys of an innocent love ! What 
exquisite portrayals of all that is lovely and feminine, 
and how powerful his delineations of the grand and 
heroic in the masculine character ! With what subtile 
skill has he depicted the cringing meanness of a des- 
picable nature, and masterfully described all the varied 
phases of human emotion in its divinest guises and in 
its most repulsive forms ! 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 275 

Eeluctantly we bid adieu to the little town which so 
proudly guards its sacred trust, — the mouldering dust, 
relics, and memorials of the " sweet bard of Avon,'' — 
assured that ever after we shall, with even keener relish, 
enjoy the mental feast which his works afford. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

CHESTER— THE LAKE REGION— A REMARKABLE 
DRIVE. 

CHESTER, 

As Chester, England, was the first city we visited 
after landing at Liverpool, we are aware that an ac- 
count of it is rather misplaced here. And in ignoring 
all method in our written course of travel, flitting here 
and there, at " our own sweet will," we throw our- 
selves upon the courtesy of our readers, upon which we 
are conscious of drawing heavily. Indeed, in pleading 
guilty to the charge of an erratic style, we trust to 
receive the lenient judgment usually awarded to the 
confessing culprit ! 

We have during the past twelve days thoroughly 
enjoyed the distinctive beauty and grandeur belonging 
to the ocean, as none have the fullest opportunity of 
doing but " those who go down to the sea in great 
ships." Watching the sunlight flashing upon the roll- 
ing waves ; making of the spray a rainbow, and of the 
swelling sea a kaleidoscope of color ; our eye wauder- 
276 



CHESTER. 277 

ing to the distant horizon, where great vessels like our 
own appear''^ like painted ships upon a painted ocean." 
Near and far the vast expanse reveals to the senses in- 
fluences, at times, soothing and delightsome; the sky 
often seeming to bend lovingly over its rival beauty, 
the ever-changing sea; and at others, agitating, in their 
awful sublimity ! Having, then, enjoyed the varied 
moods of Nature in her marine domain, whether of 
calm, as on an unruffled moonlight night, or in the 
majesty of her wrath, when the waves are turbulent 
and the sea-god rages, we turn, at length, with yearn- 
ing desire, towards the land. There the youthful 
Spring, which during our voyage has burst forth from 
her thraldom,— so long detained by the icy grip of 
Winter, — is now displaying her tender charms, as if to 
give to the stranger a sweet welcome to the green 
bowers and shady lanes of Old England. 

Crossing the ferry and taking the car, we soon find 
ourselves introduced to the quaint and delightful old 
cathedral town of Chester. Here we are comfortably 
established at a hotel, in a room whose belongings help 
us to realize that we are indeed in the Old World. And 
what wonder if to-night, when sleeping in the anti- 
quated couch whose high posts and heavy hangings 
remind us of the beds associated with our grandparents' 
repose, we should dream of times when our ancestors 
slept their innocent sleep on just such elevated thrones, 



278 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

concealed from all vulgar gaze by just sucli enfolding 
draperies ! 

But the sun is setting, and we hasten to enjoy a walk 
upon the ramparts of the old city. It is encircled 
by a wall on whose top two persons can walk abreast. 
Being considerably elevated above the level of the 
town, it permits us to enjoy a view of wide extent. 
The trees, and the shrubbery which line the walk, are in 
full leaf and blossom ; the landscape, " moist, bright, 
and green," smiles around us ; the air is vocal wjth the 
glad song of birds, and perfumed with the breath of 
the prevailing verdure. Never has Nature seemed so 
rich. We have been so long secluded from her green 
fields and gardens, looking only upon " water, water 
everywhere," that now, when surrounded by her 
abounding treasures of bursting bud and leafy tree, 
and by the birds who seem wanton in their gladness, 
our spirits catch the universal joyousness. 

What a memorable walk ! made delightful not only 
by the display of Nature's lavish beauty, but of ancient 
towers, arches, and various relics of the distant past, 
and buildings of architectural quaintness which greatly 
please the fresh eyes of the American travellers. 

The Cathedral, which gives fame to this olden town, 
affords material for prolonged study. The exquisite 
wood-carving in the choir is said to be the finest in 
England. The windows of the " Lady Chapel," which 



A REMARKABLE DRIVE. 279 

are modern, are very beautiful, while the monutnents 
and tablets are very curious. We wander into the 
chancel, where the morning service is being very im- 
pressively sung by youthful choristers. How solemn 
and sacred are the moments thus spent within the walls 
consecrated a thousand years ago ! How many voices 
have here been raised and responses given by those who 
have for many hundred years past been chanting the 
Saviour's name in heaven ! 

We saunter through the cloisters, peer into dark and 
sepulchral recesses, and, leaving reluctantly the ancient 
place, turn many a backward glance. 

The ruins of St. John's. Chapel, in another part of 
the town, are beautifully picturesque, draped and fes- 
tooned by luxuriant and graceful vines. How almost 
supernaturally chaste seem such ruins by moonlight! 
and how happily has Madame de Stael declared that 
" the sun should shine on festivals, but the moon is the 
light for ruins" ! 

A EE.MARKABLE DRIVE, 

Not a remarkable drive because it is of John-Gilpin- 
like speed, or that it has the supernatural character of 
Tarn O'Shanter's immortal ride, but because of its 
being amid scenery famed for its beauty, and that 
within its limits are to be seen the homes of some of 
the most celebrated of England's great poets. 



280 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

Taking outside seats on the coach at Windermere, 
^we drive through a beautiful country, ofttimes obtain- 
ing glimpses of the large, fine lake of Windermere, on 
whose broad surface we long to sail. What indeed can 
be prettier than a sheet of smooth water on a summer- 
like day, when the soft breezes kiss it into ripples, 
which glide over the surface like the smiles which 
flit over the face of a sleeping babe as it dreams — ah, 
who knows of what ? We have often wondered how 
any one could associate monotony with water in its 
varied forms of ocean, lake, and river. In the first 
there is a grandeur, an aw^ful sublimity, which suggests 
eternity in its mystery and vastness. For who can 
fathom the depths of the ocean, or measure its re- 
sources, or by human vision define its limits? Is it 
invested with a soul, that in its overwhelming wrath 
it seems to summon ours to a dread tribunal? Or 
with a spirit, that appeals at times in gentlest mur- 
murs to our finest sensibilities? when our aesthetic 
nature awakens to enthusiasm, as the heavenly artist 
paints on the broad canvas, in colors that rival the 
rainbow and vie with the sunset. Oft have we watched 
these colors, the more beautiful that they glide past 
in rapid succession, green, blue, golden, and silvery. 
And then the music of the sea, Nature's organ, whose 
deepest sweep of sound is soul-stirring, whose flute- 
like airs are clear and high, and again a grand 



A REMARKABLE DRIVE. 281 

seolian harp, whose breathings are of almost celestial 
melody. 

A river, although unlike the majestic ocean or placid 
lake, is full of beauty, graceful in its flow, and varied 
in its meanderings ; forming a silvery fringe to flower- 
ing meadows, and making their banks so fresh and 
moist as to coax into bloom the ^^ wild thyme," the 
modest daisy, the yellow primrose, and the forget-me- 
nots, which love the dewy moisture of the "river's 
brim/' How coquettish seems the gliding stream, as 
stealing through tangled wildwoods it flashes into 
the broad sunlight and before the open vision, anon 
stealing into the quiet shade of overhanging branches 
and drooping vines to peep forth below at some unex- 
pected spot. Gradually broadening and expanding 
into statelier beauty, it changes its youthful proportions 
and maiden coyness to assume the dignity of an open, 
flowing, and grand river. 

The "Lake District'' of England is almost unsur- 
passed in beauty, for not only do the lakes display their 
bright mirrored charms, but the whole landscape is 
graceful with ^' hills and dales and leafy woods." 
Nature, in her sweetest mood, has lavished with an 
exceptional prodigality her treasures of water and 
meadow, hill and valley. Our horses, even, seem in- 
fected with the universal buoyancy, scarcely giving us 
time to throw a tender glance upon a vine-covered cot- 

13^ 



282 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

tage, which is built upon an eminence above the road, 
bearing the apposite name of " Dove Nest/^ the former 
home of the gentle, womanly poetess, Mrs. Hemans. 
We can imagine her poetic muse to have been nurtured 
in just such a nest. Like a fledgling, it never soared 
to lofty heights, where it might roam amid heaven's 
bright sunlight, but twittered sweetly and tenderly 
amid the shadows. Her home, embosomed in trees, and 
protected by luxuriant vines from the inquisitive, and 
yet respectful, gaze of the passer-by, was such an asy- 
lum as her disappointed but chastened spirit would 
seek and love. Like a wounded " dove,'' she sought 
to hide her sorrows in a ^^nest" built high, amid 
Nature's soothing influences. 

On we speed, drinking in full draughts of that 
pleasure which, although intoxicating in its exhilara- 
tion, is innocent, as drawn from the grand resources 
of Nature, — her buoyant sunshine ; her flashing waters ; 
her lofty trees and exuberant growth of bush, hedge, 
and flower. 

After passing through Ambleside, a small, insignifi- 
cant village, Harriet Martineau's cottage is pointed 
out. It stands near the highway, and is so enshrouded 
in dense foliage as to look gloomy and forbidding, a 
darkness so deep as to symbolize that of her spiritual 
belief. A mile and a half farther, a little apart from 
the main road, is Rydal Mount, tiie home of Words- 



A REMARKABLE DRIVE. 283 

worth, one of Nature's grandest interpreters. The 
house, having been rebuilt since his death, has lost 
much of its attraction to the admirer of the pasto- 
ral poet. Near by is Rvdal Lake, the smallest of 
the district, being only a mile long and one-third of a 
mile broad. The road, half encircling the lake, soon 
brings us to the humble home of the poet Coleridge ; 
a low, mean cottage, affording an illustration of the 
fact that where Nature is most prodigal of her mental 
endowments. Providence is often the most parsimo- 
nious in the bestowal of. her temporal gifts. We 
should think that the poetic muse, a fickle goddess, 
would have fled from such a haunt, and chosen rather 
to meet her votary outside of his dreary walls, in Na- 
ture's grand audience-chamber, under the blue sky, 
more beautiful than any frescoed ceiling, and within 
the walls of her noble hills, with carpet of velvety 
green, and mirrored lakes reflecting beauty all around. 

A little farther, and we are surprised by the driver 
turning to us and abruptly saying, " Shut your eyes, 
and don't open them until I tell you." Instinctively 
we obey, and after whisking around a corner we are 
relieved by his permission, given in triumphant tone, 
to " look now." 

Ah, it is indeed a scene to dazzle our eyes ! The 
sun seems to have taken on new glory, lighting up the 
distant hill- tops, and making the trembling bosom of 



284 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

the beautiful lake Grasmere to shimmer and sparkle 
as with diamonds, giving a tenderer shade of green to 
vegetation and foliage, throwing soft shadows on the 
mountain slopes, and affording bright glimpses of 
sweet valleys. A thrill penetrates our being as the 
glorious view bursts upon our vision. 

Here, nestling beneath a towering hill, — "Helm 
Crag," — is the little village of Grasmere, in whose 
graveyard the poets Coleridge and Wordsworth lie 
buried. We linger long over the graves marked by 
simple tablets. Death has not separated those who 
were neighbors and friends while living, and who now 
lie very near to each other in the little graveyard 
under the hills. A small stream flows gently by their 
graves, and large trees shade the spot. We think it 
eminently fitting that Wordsworth, the lover of Na- 
ture and her eloquent disciple, should repose now in 
her bosom — and not in a stately mausoleum — by her 
murmuring waters, and beneath the green shelter of 
her w^ide-spreading trees, where the birds trill their 
morning song. And Nature, with her numberless 
voices, chants her vespers over him whose ears were 
once so ready to catch her faintest whispers. Caverns, 
lakes, and woods 

" Were unto him companionship." 
What wonder that an unsurpassed simplicity and 



A REMARKABLE DRIVE. 285 

purity should characterize the emanations of a soul 
born, developed, nurtured, and matured amid such 
natural beauty and grandeur as surrounded his home ! 
Could there be a "soul so dead/' a tongue so mute, that 
would not be made to blossom into tender sentiment? 
and if poesy slumbered in its nature, would it not 
waken to warble with bird-like sweetness when wooed 
by such irresistible charm as ministered to his senses ? 

Within the graveyard is the exceedingly quaint old 
church where Wordsworth worshipped. Over his 
family pew a white marble tablet is inserted, bearing 
his chiselled portrait. 

Mounting again to the top of the lumbering coach, 
we start anew, but the prospect soon changes, as we 
ascend Dun mail Pass, from the lovely and picturesque 
to the most desolate, wild, and dreary. The ascent is 
seven hundred feet, and, although from its summit we 
enjoy the enchanting view obtained by looking back 
upon the pretty villages of the plain, their bulwarks 
of hills, sheltered valleys and gleaming lakes, yet sur- 
rounded as we now are by dearth and barrenness, we 
gladly near the terminus of the descent, Derwentwater 
Lake and the village of Keswick, soon greeting and 
delighting our eyes, afford us one of the finest views of 
the long and famous drive. 

In Keswick the poet Southey lived from 1803 to 
1843, the date of his death. It is a singular fact that 



286 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

within the radius of half a day's ride, from Windermere 
to Keswick, we pass the former homes of four poets, 
whose names fame has made as "familiar as house- 
hold words" to the English-speaking race; a galaxy 
of brilliant lights which have illuminated the world's 
literature and have brightened hearts and homes. For 
through the highest poetic thought and its silvery 
speech, the mind is cultured ; the sentiment elevated ; 
the best and finest feelings of the heart developed ; a 
sweet faith and purity inculcated, and religion ei^alted ; 
led as we are through the pure teachings of the true 
poet — Nature's own child — to look through ^'Nature 
up to Nature's God." 

The soul, to whom poetry, grand in conception, pure 
in thought, and exalted in tone, appeals in vain ; that 
refuses to recognize its beauty and to be influenced 
through its charm, is like him " who has no music in 
his soul," fit for " treasons, stratagems, and spoils." 

At Keswick we sleep and dream of our enjoyment, 
wdiich, although but the experience of a day, will, by 
the blessed power of memory, prove a "joy forever." 



CHAPTER XX. 

EDINBURGH— THE TROSACIIS— SCOTTISH LAKES 
—GLASGOW. 

EDINBUEGH. 

Edinburgh is a queenly city ! From the peculiar- 
ity of its situation, being enthroned on three ridges, it 
affords, from some points, grand and extensive pros- 
pects. Like many European cities, it offers the two 
phases of the old and the new, and, although the mod- 
ern is the finest and most imposing, yet the old por- 
tions of the city, with their narrow streets, crowded 
buildings, dark, dingy, and uninviting though they be, 
possess the greater attraction, rich as these localities 
always are in historic associations. 

Alighting from the train, Ave mount many steps, and 
suddenly find ourselves in a street, properly named 
Prince. Broad and fine it is. Here, surrounded on 
each side by a sloping green, planted with tree and 
shrub, is the very elegant monument of Sir Walter 
Scott, "Scotia's darling son.'' It is of white marble, 
two hundred feet high. Seated within the arches, he is 

287 



288 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

represented in life-sizej with a book in his hand and his 
loved dog by his side. In the niches are statues of the 
most prominent characters in his works. The most con- 
spicuous object in this beautiful city is the Castle. It is 
built upon the summit of a rock upon the central ridge 
of the city, and occupieSj with its works, an area of 
seven acres, with capacity to accommodate two hundred 
persons. On the esplanade is to be seen the celebrated 
gun, ^' Mons Meg," purported to have been forged in 
Flanders in 1486. In one apartment of the castle the 
regalia of Scotland are displayed. They were discov- 
ered in 1818 secreted in a chest, which being opened 
by royal command was found to contain this national 
treasure. The embroidered velvet, faded and dingy, is 
yet resplendent with jewels. Another room is shown, 
in which James VL, afterwards King of England, was 
born. The castle is a magnificent feature of the beau- 
tiful landscape. In every direction it may be seen 
looming up in its grandeor, as immutable as the rock 
on which it is built, and as grand as Time, with which 
it seems coeval. Feeling, after leaving it, irresistibly in- 
clined again and again to turn and gaze upon it, we are 
reminded of Lot's wife, and think that if in the hapless 
city of Sodom there had been any such stupendous 
work of human skill, all the accessories of nature add- 
ing to its splendid dignity, we should feel renewed pity 
for the unhappy consequences of her disobedience. 



EDINBURGH. 289 

A visit to Holyrood Palace, in another part of the 
city, proves very gratifying. It is teeming with asso- 
ciations with the unhappy Mary, Queen of Scots. The 
apartments most intimately connected with her expe- 
rience are astonishingly small, and seem sepulchral in 
gloom. The bedsteads are exceedingly ancient in style, 
and, being hung and covered with dingy, tattered 
drapery, look anything but inviting even to the weary 
traveller. We are shown the room where Rizzio, while 
at supper with the Queen and several of her ladies, was 
seized and murdered while clinging to her royal robes 
for protection, she being impotent to save. The guide, 
blessed with vision unimpaired or imagination in vivid 
exercise, insists that he can descry on the wooden 
boards of the floor the stains of the blood which 
flowed from the fatal wound of the unfortunate and 
perhaps guilty man. But, although we call in the arti- 
ficial aid of glasses, we can detect no traces of the san- 
guinary deed. As the guide points with the toe of his 
boot to the fancied spots, we remember the familiar 
scene in which Lady Macbeth exclaims, — 

" Yet here's a spot ; 

■55- * * * -K- * 

Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — one, two." 

Passing on to the next apartment, we see more of the 
faded, moth-eaten hangings, with other ancient relics, 



290 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

all symbolical of the sadness which pervades the asso- 
ciation with the beautiful, amiable, unhappy woman 
whose frailties we pity, while we condemn. An object 
which holds us long is the little shrine before which 
she had been accustomed to kneel. Had she crimes to 
confess there, or were her misfortunes due more to 
weakness of heart than to depravity of nature ? Were 
this papistical shrine gifted with language, it might 
reveal much that is now enshrouded in the darkness of 
suspicion, perhaps removing the cloud which .lowers 
over her conjugal relations. Opening into this sleep- 
ing-apartment is the smallest of dining-rooms, where 
she and her unfortunate husband. Lord Darnley, were 
in the habit of dining; a door leading into the boudoir 
discovers a close private staircase, which gave him in- 
gress to her apartments. Connected with Holyrood Pal- 
ace, which for some centuries was occupied by the kings 
of Scotland, is the abbey founded by David I. It was 
in its chapel that Queen Mary and Lord Darnley were 
married. It is now in ruins, only its walls standing. 

Holyrood Castle is built upon a low plain, Salis- 
bury Crags and Arthur's Seat towering above it to the 
south. The Queen's drive, which encircles the two, 
offers views such as are rarely enjoyed. The ascent is 
gradual, the enthusiasm increasing as the road winds 
higher and higher on the elevated slopes. The pros- 
pect is not only very extensive, but most picturesquely 



EDINBURGH. 291 

varied. We see the sparkling waters of the Firth of 
Forth in the distance; arable plains stretching out 
before iis^ dense woods relieving their monotony ; the 
thickly-populated city in its splendor and glory ; church 
steeples flashing in the sunlight; country residences, 
with noble lawns ; little cottages with rural surround- 
ings ; the castle in its majestic strength ; and the un- 
pretending Holyrood Palace. The precipitous rocky 
sides of the crags remind us of the Palisades on our 
noble Hudson. The drive includes the view of many 
sites connected with Scott's "Heart of Mid-Lothian." 
As we begin the ascent our attention is directed to the 
spot where Jeanie Deans is described as meeting 
Robertson. Farther on is her humble cottage home, 
and near to it the Laird's house, where her sister 
Effie sought counsel before beginning her pilgrimage 
to London. 

A very ancient-looking building in the old part of 
the city is pointed out as having been the home of 
the old Reformer, John Knox. The house is black- 
ened with age, while the fame of the good man, who 
once lived and preached in it, grows brighter and 
purer with time. A bow window on the corner of the 
house formed on many occasions his pulpit, the audi- 
ence standing in the street below. The church of St. 
Giles, said to be about one thousand years old, was the 
scene of his labors, the old pulpit which he occupied 



292 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

tliere^ being shown now as a sacred relic in the Royal 
Institution. 

THE TROSACHS AND SCOTTISH LAKES. 

Taking coach at Cal lender, towards the close of a 
damp, murky afternoon, we pass through a region 
made classic by Scott's " Lady of the Lake." Ar- 
riving at the Fall of Gartchonzie, where the Ven- 
nacher, leaping over rocks, rushes down to Coilantogle 
Ford, we remember it was here that Roderick Dhu 
promised to escort Fitz-James 

" As far as Coilantogle Ford," 

and where, upon arriving, he defied him to a mortal 
combat : 

" See, here all vantageless I stand, 
Armed like thyself with single brand ; 
For this is Coilantogle Ford, 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

Then comes Loch Vennacher, five miles long and 
one and a half miles wide. Farther on is the spot 
where the Alpine clan lay concealed until Roderick 
Dim's whistle summoned them : 

"Instant through copse and heath arose 
Bonnets and spears and bended bows. 
On right, on left, above, below, 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 



THE SCOTTISH LAKES. 293 

From shingles gray their lances start, 
The bracken bush sends forth the dart, 
The rushes and the willow wand 
Are bristling into axe and brand, 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior armed for strife." 

Ere long, we see, on the left, Ben venue; and oppo- 
site, Ben- An ; between them lies the Pass of the 
Trosachs. 

From earliest childhood, when enthusiastically en- 
joying that inimitable book, the ^^ Lights and Shadows 
of Scottish Life,'' our eyes have longed to wander over 
heathery moors and to look upon a kirk and a manse. 
The latter word has always seemed redolent with the 
sweet fragrance of domestic, pious life; simple, per- 
haps humble, and yet possessing all those elements 
which help to constitute such a home as man hopes 
for, woman dreams of, and which is sometimes re- 
alized. 

As we ride on in the coach, we fall into conversa- 
tion with its only gentleman passenger, listening with 
pleasure to his explanations of the scenes through 
which we are passing, familiar to him, as his home, 
he remarks, is situated in their midst. He verifies the 
character of a true Scotchman; intelligent, practical, 
with that sound good sense which is thought to be a 
rare quality in the world, but of which the Scotch 



294 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

character has a full share. Of powerful, brawny 
frame, gentlemanly mien, and very plain attire, we 
are at a loss with what position or profession to invest 
him, his remarks giving us no clue. Chancing, how- 
ever, to allude to our desire to see a " manse,'' he 
smilingly rejoins, '^ I can soon gratify your wish, as 
my own is now not far distant.'' 

And so it is, that our life-long desire is gratified ; for 
peering through the gathering shadows of tlie twilight 
we can see, from amid a cluster of trees, the smoke 
curling, showing that a house is nigh. The coach 
stops before a pretty, low, rural cottage ; its windows, 
festooned with vines, look out npon a small green 
lawm, and, as the curtains are drawn, we can see the 

" Ingle blinking bonnily, 
The clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile;" 

and flocking down the broad pathway towards the gate, 
^Hhe expectant wee things;" and the maids, ready to 
give their respectful greeting. Then comes the cour- 
teous '^good-night" of the blessed man, the closing of 
the door, and the dropping of the curtains, — 

" Leaving the world to darkness and to me." 
A few moments' rapid driving brings us to the hotel 



THE SCOTTISH LAKES. 295 

of the Trosachs, within whose pleasant, hospitable 
walls we are established for the nio^ht. 

The next mornino^, after a short drive throno^h a 
glen, truly picturesque in the natural wildness of its 
surroundings, we arrive at the pier, where a small 
steamboat is waiting to convey us over Loch Kat- 
rine. Soon we pass a little wooded island, which is 
the veritable ^^ Ellen's Isle" of Scott's poem ; and here 
we will borrow his description of the locality : 



" Where gleaming with the'setting sun, 
One burnished sheet of living gold, 
Loch Katrine lay heneath him rolled. 
In all her length far-winding lay. 
With promontory, creek, and bay ; 
And islands that empurpled bright 
Floated amid the livelier light ; 
And mountains, that like giants stand 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south huge Benvenue 
Down on the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, 
The fragments of an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar. 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben- An heaved high his forehead bare." 

Opposite " Ellen's Isle,'' at the foot of Benvenue, is 
the opening of the passage that leads to the Goblin's 



296 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

Cave, This is a large space within the moantain, 
whose entrance is now closed by fragments of rocks, 
which have been hurled from above^ and by the spon- 
taneous growth of trees and shrubs. It was within 
this natural shelter that Ellen's father secreted her 
from Roderick Dhu, and where she warbled her 
"angel hymn." 

Loch Katrine is so far different from Loch Lomond 
as to forbid any comparison. It is grandly wild and 
picturesque; hedged in by formidable mountains, tow- 
ering crags, rocks, and foliage. 

Nature, who, like other dames, seems subject to 
variations of moods, was in her roughest when she 
breathed rugged life into this region ; but we would 
not have her exempt from the mighty power of her 
turbulence, for she is most grand when she crowns the 
landscape with ponderous mountains, and lifts up her 
forms of praise in the lofty hill-tops, and often most 
eloquent when she gives expression to her wild whims 
and erratic fancies, by scattering in great confusion 
bristling crags, scraggy, precipitous slopes, and deep 
ravines. 

Taking coach again at the terminus of the Loch, we 
ride five miles to Inversnaid, through an elevated coun- 
try, barren, dreary, and monotonous. Much of its sur- 
face is covered by the modest heather, Scotland's native 
plant. By the by, what a dreary scene does a Scottish 



THE SCOTTISH LAKES. 297 

moor usually present ! There is something to the mind 
of sensibility inexpressibly depressing in this extensive, 
unvaried surface of ground, carpeted with one monot- 
onous color, which appears en masse dingy, or, at least, 
not bright and gay, as the lively green on our West- 
ern prairies, where the pretty grass is relieved by num- 
berless flowers of varied color. 

At Inversnaid we hasten to climb to the little bridge 
over the pretty, rushing, impetuous waterfall, which is 
an enjoyable sight in itself, but is made doubly attract- 
ive by being associated with Wordsworth's winsome 
creation, " The Highland Girl." 

The sky so far, on this memorable day, has been 
happily adapted to the scenes through which we have 
passed ; for rugged aspects, dark gorges, and frowning 
cliffs should be viewed through a gloomy, clouded at- 
mosphere, as on stern features and lowering brows a 
bright, sunny smile would seem incongruous. Now, 
as we are to be introduced to the lovely scenes of Loch 
Lomond, the Queen of the Scottish Lakes, the sunlight, 
that grand revealer of the milder types of natural 
beauty, bursts forth in its glory, illuminating gentle, 
grassy slopes, crowning with silvery light the hill- 
tops, and beaming on the waters, which return the 
smile; brightening, too, the verdant little isles which, 
reposing on the ample bosom of the lake, quench their 

thirst there, even as the babe, while slumbering on 

14 



298 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

the mother's breast, instinctively imbibes its nourish- 
ment. 

As the lake broadens more and more, discovering to 
us extended views of wondrous beauty, infinitely diver- 
sified, we cease to exclaim, but are silent through in- 
tensity of enjoyment, for oftentimes, when the heart is 
most affluent in feeling, the tongue is most beggared in 
expression. 

It had occurred to us that this feast of the senses 
might be followed by a famine, particularly as we had 
been led to expect meagre entertainment in Glasgow, 
the next scene of the shifting drama of travel ; but on 
reaching our hotel here, situated on George's Square, 
we find our first impressions very agreeable ones. This 
square is embellished by many monuments and statues 
of great men, and forms a fine promenade. In a 
most enjoyable ride around and through tlie city, we 
find its parks and several of its streets, with those 
portions of the city affording residences for the wealthy 
citizens, worthy of any city and most satisfying to the 
stranger. 

The splendor of the University, and the remarkable 
site on which it is built, make it as imposing an edifice 
and inviting a spot as we have seen anywhere. It 
occupies an eminence from which an unsurpassed view 
of the city is obtained, and is for this reason alone well 
worth a visit. A recent munificent gift from the Mar- 



GLASGO IV. 299 

qiiis of Bute to the University will be devoted to the 
erection of a grand hall, to be called by his name. 

A fine building is the Royal Exchange, in Queen 
Street, the architectural ornamentation of the sides and 
the really elegant portico of the front commanding 
universal admiration. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

ABBOTSFOIID— MELROSE ABBEY— CARLISLE. 
ABBOTSFORD. 

Thp:re are certain intellectual shrines to which all 
cultured persons would gladly make a pilgrimage, and 
it is not strange that a country as rich as Great Britain 
in science, poetry, and prose, should possess more than 
one Mecca where we may pay our worshipful regard. 
To the enthusiastic lover of literature and science there 
is great danger of cherishing an idolatrous admiration 
for the representatives of talent and genius, failing to 
look beyond these merely human mental lights to the 
Divine Luminary whose dim and indistinct reflection 
all earthly development must be, however grand com- 
paratively. 

We are naturally hero-worshippers, and if excuse can 
be found for such worship 'tis when we strive to crown 
even the lifeless brows of such bards and men as 
Homer, Milton, Shakspeare, and the great revealers of 
natural and mechanical mysteries, as Newton, Fulton, 
Stephenson, Watt, and others, with the wreath of fame 
so deservedly won in life. 
300 



ABBOTSFORD. 301 

With our mind and heart in full sympathy we seek 
the haunts of the charming poet and unequalled novel- 
ist, Walter Scott. He who through his pen can 
win the critical appreciation of his readers appeals 
successfully, at the same time, to their emotional 
natures, as we owe a debt of gratitude for hours made 
" rosy-fingered" through the magic of a writer's thought 
and fancy ; life thereby cheated of many a weary 
moment, sadness and sorrow blunted, and sometimes 
forgotten even, through the intense interest excited by 
the graphic portrayal of life's brightest, fairest scenes. 
'Tis with eagerness, then, towards the close of a gloomy 
autumn day, when the skies have been dim and 
threatening and are still lowering darkly above us, 
that we ride from Melrose to Abbotsford. The drive 
is a dreary one, through a desolate-looking country. 
We alight at the head of a short lane leading to the 
house which had. been the loved home of a man whose 
mental powers were worthy of a palace and a crown ; 
for kings and queens may be formed of ordinary 
human mould, but such an intellect as his has few 
peers, and is only created by Divine will. We look with 
mournful pleasure upon the fine house which had cost 
its owner such severe mental labor to secure, remem- 
bering those " births of intellect" which w^ere the rich 
fruit of a mind so prolific that it could without great 
mental throes, but even with ease, deliver itself of 



302 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

thoughts^ fancies, and sentiments which it would seem 
could only be conceived, if at all, amid conditions of 
ease and luxurious leisure. It is indeed only the mind 
of richest resources and profoundest power that could, 
with such felicity and rapidity, throw off volume after 
volume, each hailed by an eager, expectant world with 
unabated delight. 

The muse, so coy and reluctant, and so difficult to 
win by the ordinary writer, who must court inspiration 
and seek every inviting means to secure it, was by 
Walter Scott never summoned in vain, but was always 
present awaiting his behest. 

We enter an open side-door, and find ourselves in an 
uncarpeted antechamber, where is a huge volume in 
which visitors are expected to inscribe their names. 
An inner door presently opens, a small party issues 
from it, and we are invited by an intelligent woman 
to wander through the rooms associated with the liter- 
ary and the home life of the celebrated man. We 
follow sadly, the twilight harmonizing with our feel- 
ings ; the house is dark and gloomy, the rooms deserted ; 
the great and noble spirit that once inhabited them has 
passed away, and their brightness faded out with his 
life. We ascend a flight of steps and enter a room 
sacred to the memory of the great author, as his 
sanctum sanctorum. A small room, indeed ! too small 
to have contained a mind whose realm of fancy was 



ABBOTSFORD. 303 

world-wide, whose breadth of vision soared infinitely 
beyond the four walls which enclosed his bodily pres- 
ence, creating for itself scenes too fascinating to be 
suggested by aught that met his eye as it roamed over 
the bounded landscape. One large window supplies 
the light, looking upon a contracted but pretty flower- 
garden. 

An open fireplace, its glow long since turned to 
ashes ; shelves filled with books ; a narrow, circling 
gallery, with a flight of steps leading to it and to his 
private chamber ; a table in the middle of the room ; a 
very ample leather-covered chair before it, compose 
the furniture. The chair is worn, and the table shows 
traces of constant use, seeming the more precious for 
the signs, as is a beloved face, whose very wrinkles 
become dear to us. Long and with moistened eyes do 
we gaze on these relics before following the patient 
guide into the noble, well-stocked library, which opens 
from the study. It is said to be enriched with twenty 
thousand volumes, and among the most interesting are 
those works which the late owner contributed from his 
own brain. The ceiling of this room is elaborately 
carved. The dining-room is very large, its ceiling of 
carved oak. It contains many pictures, the most re- 
markable that of the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, in 
a charger, painted the day after her execution, by 
Amias Can rood. 



304 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

A covered case in this room is filled Avith gifts from 
crowned heads and others, and with several relics of 
Scott's brother-poet, Kobert Burns. This room, whose 
broad, low window looks upon the river Tweed, as it 
flows by at the foot of the lawn, is the one in which 
Scott died, having, at his request, been brought here 
that he might rest his dying gaze upon the water he 
loved so well, his life flowing out peacefully, his 
weary spirit lulled into sweet repose by the gentle 
ripple of the ever-gliding stream. So, borne on the 
weaves of time, whose upheavals had agitated and dis- 
turbed his later years, his grand spirit was launched 
upon the Ocean of Eternity, his splendid powers know- 
ing there the fullest fruition. 

The drawing-room, furnished in ebony and contain- 
ing several rich and rare cabinets, adjoins a long, nar- 
row room, filled, as is the hall, with armor and other 
curious memorials of ancient times ; but the objects 
which draw and rivet attention are in a glass case, 
which encloses the suit of clothing last worn by the 
famed author, even his shoes and hat; the accoutre- 
ments of a tired soldier, who, after fighting the battle 
of life manfully and well, had surrendered to the 
power of death, laying aside the vestiges of his human 
life to assume the brighter garb of an angel of light. 



MELROSE ABBEY. 305 

MELROSE ABBEY. 

Three miles from Abbotsford, in the village of Mel- 
rose, stand the ruins of the famous abbey of that name. 
It was founded by David I. in 1136, dedicated to the 
Virgin Mary, and conferred upon the monks of the 
Cistercian order. The principal portion of the church 
remains, but a part only of the roof, and that over the 
chancel ; this is supported by groups of pillars, whose 
pedestals and capitals exhibit the finest carvings of 
flowers. The abbey is thought to present the noblest 
specimen of Gothic architecture and sculpture remain-= 
ing in Scotland ; the east window, facing the entrance, 
is incomparably fine, a model of architectural skill and 
beauty. It is fifty-seven feet high and twenty-eight 
feet broad. Under it, where probably once stood the 
altar, Alexander II. was buried. A large marble slab 
covers his tomb. Another slab designates the spot 
where was interred the great heart of the Scottish 
patriot. King Robert Bruce. An unsuccessful attempt 
had been made to carry it to the Holy Land, but it was 
eminently proper that it should rest in the soil for 
which it bled and struggled and even died ; for his 
death is said to have resulted from his early hardships 
and life of toil and exposure. " After life's fitful fever 
he sleeps well" within these beautiful ruins, with Na- 
ture's pennons — the graceful tendrils of green vines — 

14* 



306 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

floating in the summer breeze, while the exquisite win- 
dow above forms a finer headstone than any modern 
monument could do. 

Patriotism is one of the grandest sentiments of the 
soul; one of the most liberal of affections; expansive 
in its sweep; magnanimous and unselfish in its devo- 
tion. Demanding as it does an entire ignoring of per- 
sonal interest, a surrendering of all one^s individual 
good for that of the nation at large, an immolation of 
self upon the altar of one's country, it must evince a 
nobility of nature, a depth of soul-power, a grand 
emotional capacity, and a breadth of mind that give 
to the world the noblest " assurance of a man." 

As long as there is so much of petty meanness, not 
only floating on the surface of society, but clogging 
the under-currents of life, so much of intense selfish- 
ness apparent, of craving and clamoring for self- 
aggrandizement, an utter yielding often of the whole 
moral nature to trickery and corruption in political 
circles, no true patriot will be allowed to go down to 
his grave 

" Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." 

We believe the effect of these renowned ruins to be 
greatly impaired, if not destroyed, by their contiguity 
to other and very inferior objects. The abbey is 
enclosed within very high walls, ingress being obtained 



CARLISLE. 307 

by personal application to a custodian ; but under its 
very shadow are a hostlery and many insignificant 
buildings, occupied by the humblest class. We long, 
by some grand Archimedean lever, to remove bodily 
these sacred ruins to some spot where, aloof from all 
surroundings, they may display the grandeur which 
lies w^ithin their splendid columns, picturesque walls, 
and fragmentary cloisters. 

CARLISLE. 

Carlisle, although a pleasant old town, fails to tempt 
the tourist to a prolonged stay, its beautiful cathedral 
and formidable castle alone rewarding detention » The 
latter, situated on an elevation which commands an 
extensive view of the surrounding country, is so truly 
a vestige of feudal times as to be of great curiosity to 
visitors from the New World. Its origin dates back 
so far as to be lost in obscurity, but it is probably a 
stronghold built by the Romans. Showing no signs of 
decay, but in its impregnable strength seeming to defy 
the world, it will probably stand as long as the city of 
its founders, and when " Rome falls, the world" will 
fall. 

It is now the barracks of the military, and, as we 
happen to visit it at the hour of drill, we are further 
edified by a sight which always quickens a timid 
woman's blood and makes her shrink back, as a mar- 



308 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

tial host with rapid, impetuous tread advances, obeying 
the orders to ''' shoulder arras" and " charge bayonets." 
Gliding past the soldiers' ranks, we climb to the ram- 
parts, from which we enjoy a prospect very pleasing in 
its wide range of vision. Our minds revert to those 
troublous times when, during the wars between Eng- 
land and Scotland, this border town and its fortress 
afforded refuge and security to the affrighted inhab- 
itants of the neighboring country. Mary, Queen of 
Scots, is said to have stopped here while fleeing ►from 
Scotland. 

Leaving this grand monument of olden times, we 
saunter through the sunlit, quiet streets to the majestic 
cathedral. Entering it through inviting grounds, pret- 
tily cultivated, we find ourselves in a vast vestibule, 
which forms the oldest part of the church, dating back 
more than a thousand years. The beadle, of imposing 
figure, with staff of office ostentatiously paraded, pom- 
pously conducts us to a seat, as it is the hour of morn- 
ing service. We form part of a very small audience, 
but " two or three met together" for the early prayer. 
Presently the reverend form of the dean, bowed with 
years, white locks clustering round a noble head, with 
evidently dimmed vision and with faltering step, 
enters, leaning on the arm of a young curate. We 
think, as we observe him in absorbed spiritual exercise, 
attempting, with the stammering voice of age, to follow 



CARLISLE. 309 

the choral service, how soon it must be that his tongue 
will be unloosed in heaven, joining in the wondrous 
melody to which the whole nature Avill be attuned ! 
How strange a thought that, aged here, bent, decrepit, 
and trembling with exhausted strength and failing 
powers, we sink helpless into the arms of death, to 
awaken instantaneously in another sphere of being, 
rejuvenated, crowned with perpetual youth, with facul- 
ties endowed with heavenly wisdom and perception, 
soul ethereal i zed, voice of seraphic harmony ! 

We turn our eyes from the benignant countenance of 
the aged saint to the younger and less sanctified faces 
of the minor canons, one of whom conducts the ser- 
vices, — or leach them, for the little choristers seem to be 
the principal officiators. Young, innocent faces most 
of them have, many of them singing with true unction. 
As they stand before us in their pure white robes, with 
uplifted eyes and serious mien, instinctively our thought 
wanders in imagination to the vast throng of infantile 
angels around the throne of God, continually chanting 
praise to Him who said, ^' Suffer little children to come 
unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven/' 

The lofty ceiling of the cathedral is painted in sky- 
blue, silvery stars dotting its surface. The oriel-win- 
dow of stained glass over the pulpit is exquisite ; the 
sun shining through it floods the interior with a gor- 



310 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

geous light, ill which are blended the richest colors, 
beautifying a white marble pulpit, which is placed on 
one side, as a memorial to Archdeacon Paley, who, 
having been a native of Carlisle, is buried here. 



CHAPTER XXIL 

HOMEWARD BOUND— OUR SHIP— THE VOYAGE. 

HOMEWARD BOUXD. 

To the American who has turned his back upon his 
native land to seek the almost inexhaustible pleasure 
which is to be found in foreign travel, that variety 
which meets him at every turn, — and is not human 
nature constantly clamoring for novelty? — but who 
at length feels that the feast must end, and home be 
sought, to him, we say, the words homeward hound 
come with a thrilling sound. 

It means return to his native land, which seems to 
him now, in the light of comparison, more than ever 
the most desirable of all lands, for although our re- 
publican form of government still presents problems 
which have defied astute intellects to solve, yet he 
must believe it to contain the grandest elements ot 
national glory. And when time, still riper, shall have 
burst the shell, throwing off the husk of corruption 
which has impeded the rich growth, it Avill reveal a 
germ which shall contain all the splendor and renown 
that are possible to a human government. 

311 



312 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

It means, too, a return to a Christian Sabbath. 
What more refreshing than the rest of that day, the 
air only broken by the sweet-toned church-bells? 
What more longed for, while lingering on the Conti- 
nent, than the calm and quiet of an American Sab- 
bath ? What a contrast to the Parisian, where the 
thud of the hammer falls heavily upon the ear, while 
the sound of fife and drum penetrates to innermost 
chambers; scenes of revelry and sounds of mirth con- 
stantly oifending and jarring upon Christianized sensi- 
bilities ! 

Homeward hound I yes, it means, too, to the satiated 
traveller, a return to the home, which has no equivalent 
in the French idiom or experience. 

Home ! how sad it is to think that he, Payne, who 
sang so sweetly of its charms, had only dreamed of 
them, and knew them not in the reality of his own life 1 
Let us hope that his soul has found a haven, on the 
heavenly shore, of such blissful rest as he had visions 
of while on this side of the dark river. Home ! which, 
in its possible happiness, is an emblem of that heavenly 
retreat where love reigns supreme, and where joy and 
peace hallow the eternal life! 

What enjoyment has not the traveller experienced 
during his months of absence ! What stores of rich 
facts, what multiplied ideas, what enlarged views, has 
he not gained ! With what quickened perceptions, 



OUR SHIP. 313 

ennobled sympathies, stimulated intellect, and enkin- 
dled enthusiasm has he not returned ! What breadth 
•and depth has he not attained, whose arable mind and 
lieart were prepared to receive the good seed which 
travel sows in all intelligent and receptive natures? 

And yet we have met some who, like the Peter Bell 
of Wordsworth's creation, have 

"Travelled here, and travelled there, 
But not the value of a hair 
Was head or heart the better." 

We believe travel to be a great educating power, 
brightening and developing the intellectual faculties, 
and affording material for future contemplation and 
mental digestion. What panoramic views does it af- 
ford to pass before the mind in future lonely hours ! 
What dazzling memories to brighten evermore life's 
gloom ! Ever faithful to our mental summons, they 
shall never die, but fade away in the absorbing glory 
of Eternity, even as stars cease to twinkle in the crown- 
ing light of day ! 

OUR SHIP. 

Those who have not been voyagers on the " deep 
blue sea" often have the impression that a ship, al- 
though grand in its appointments and majestic in its 
proportions, is a cumbersome, unwieldy, awkward 
power, and upon their first introduction to one their 



314 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

impressions might be confirmed. But what a change 
would be wrought in them during the first hours spent 
on such a gallant steamer as ours^ on a bright day, while 
the brilliant sun is touching with radiant glory the 
whole surface of the ocean, the fresh breeze making of 
each wave a "thing of life/^ and all the influences of 
the elements surrounding us being peculiarly propitious! 
With Avhat novel delight do we watch the movements 
of our beautiful ship, now sinking in the deep embrace 
of the proud waters, to be tossed aloft like a frolicsome 
child, then swaying gracefully from side to side, as if 
to court and then recede from the caress of the dancing 
waves ! How daintily she dips her prow into the 
crested sea, rising sparkling and dripping with its foam ! 
And when in her graver moods, the elements hushed, 
how majestically she rides upon the mighty waters ! 

In the severe gale, " when the waves roar and are 
troubled" and lash her sides in fury, she sweeps nobly 
on her course, resisting every assault and outriding 
every danger. The ocean's mammoth toy, and the 
ocean's conqueror too, is this noble ship of ours, and 
when, with proud mien, spread sails, and flag unfurled, 
she bears us into port, we shall reluctantly bid her 
adieu. 

Go back, mighty ship, to thy enamored spouse, the 
ocean, safely retracing thy steps through the waves 
which sport upon its bosom. 



THE VOYAGE. 315 



THE VOYAGE. 



" Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas, 
And you, who raging winds and waves appease, 
Breathe on our swelling sails a prosperous wind, 
And smooth our passage to the port assigned. 
The gentle gales their flagging force renew ; 
And now the happy harbor is in view." 

Vb^giVs JEneid. 

Sea-sickness differs from most other physical mala- 
dies. When under its influence, the poor victim is ob- 
livious to all life's joys and interests ; the ties of the 
heart, even, seem relaxed ; the faces of absent children 
and loved ones may flit before the memory, but for the 
first time they fail to elicit a smile or to awaken a thrill 
of tenderness. However amiable the natural disposi- 
tion, one becomes irritable and captious, wonders that 
he ever associated pleasure with foreign travel, and, if 
still acknowledging there be any, thinks it like gaining 
the gates of Paradise through Hades itself. 

That there is no alternative, that the voyage is an 
inevitable necessity, are facts that give poignancy to his 
cry, ^^Ten thousand furlongs of sea for one acre of 
barren ground." He denounces the man who ever 
invented food, and the cook, who allows the transmis- 
sion of its odors to torment his senses, and the waiters, 
too, who seem to have formed a satanic plot to announce 
its presence by a deafening clatter of dishes. 



316 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

Can he ever partake again of home cheer? Will 
rarest dainties, even, ever again tickle his palate ? In 
a word, shall he ever eat again f No, it cannot be ; he 
has forsworn food for evermore ! 

If Nature in compunctious pity drops the dew of 
sleep upon the weary eyelids, it is but a short respite : 
he awakens to wretchedness, for he is to retch all day. 

The malady is one which, from the time of Noah 
and his probably suffering companions, no skill has 
been able to cure or even assuage ; indeed, the rctbust 
physician in the next state-room may be as completely 
prostrated as the more delicate frame in our own. 

But, as there is no gloom so abiding that time will 
not dispel it, we find ourselves awaking some bright 
morning with the familiar old experience of hunger 
upon us. Can it be that coffee has suddenly resumed 
its grateful aroma ? that broiled steak and baked meats 
greet once more our olfactories with welcome, savory 
odors? Yet so it is; the truant appetite has returned, 
and, what is better, " good digestion waits upon it." 
We even discover a great impatience for the summons 
to four meals a day, and make no delicately feminine 
demands upon the abundance before us. The love of 
life, too, — that inherent principle, — which really had 
succumbed to the prevailing physical depression of the 
past several days, has resumed its old sway, and the 
future, which so lately seemed shrouded in midnight 



THE VOYAGE. 317 

gloom, is now arrayed in all the eifalgence of glorious 
day. Truly, " old things have passed away, and all 
things have become new." 

We believe that nowhere is social pleasure more 
keenly enjoyed than at sea, after the change has 
dawned upon all. " A fellow-feeling makes us won- 
drous kind ;" we are a little band separated from the 
rest of the world, with naught " but a plank between 
us and eternity ;" knit together by the same hopes, the 
same fears ; all bound for the same goal, a port of the 
New World, yet not knowing but we may be stranded 
upon the shores of Eternity. There seems to be a 
universal desire to dispel all depressing thoughts, and 
to seek in innocent amusement to while the time away. 
Each contributes his or her share towards the general 
entertainment, and sweet is the music, droll the pan- 
tomime, sparkling the wit, and merry the laughter 
which enliven the little circle congregated each even- 
ing in the cabin. We often look around us and 
ponder upon the strange scene. We are in mid-ocean ; 
beyond the ken and reach of all humanity; midway 
between the Old and the New World ; floating over a 
fathomless element, with an unlimited expanse of sky 
above, the curtains of night concealing its heaven-born 
light. All is weird-like around us; the dimly-lit cabin, 
a favorite sjwt for lurking shadows ; the swaying of the 
lights; the creaking of the ship; the sighing of the 



318 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

winds, as if deploring their lonely banishment to the 
darkness and gloom without ; the dash of the waves, 
which seem always in restless tumult, their monotonous 
music, like a dirge, filling up the intervals of our mirth ; 
while the sometime roar and shriek of the tempest, 
sweeping above and around us, is the powerful requiem 
of Nature for the dead, over whom we are sailing. 

We look complacently over at the clergyman oppo- 
site us, hoping that he, in his spiritual calling, may be 
as effective to save as " the ten righteous men" for 
whose sake, at Lot's solicitation, the city of Sodom was 
to be spared, and, congratulating ourselves that there is 
apparently no Jonah on board to endanger our safety, 
" we lay us down in peace to sleep,'' awaking each 
morning to fresh enjoyment of the situation. 

We find that one's comfort and pleasure on ship- 
board are largely dependent upon the character and 
bearing of the captain ; indeed, all the subordinates seem 
to take their cue from him, and as " a little leaven 
leaveneth the whole lump," so his graciousness and 
uniform politeness seem contagious in the official circle. 
We are fortunate in our commander ; like him of the 
" Nancy Bell," he is a " captain bold," but we trust is 
not reserved for a similar fate ! 

Of "heroic build," Captain H. seems singularly 
adapted to the responsible position he has so long filled ; 
not puffed up, as those often are who are " dressed in 



THE VOYAGE. 319 

authority," but always sustain ing a resolute dignity of 
manner, which wins our confidence in him as com- 
mander, while his intelligence, courtesy, and manliness 
of character claim our respect and regard. 

A chivalric nature is a decided requisite to a captain's 
social reputation. A bevy of clinging, helpless women 
hang upon his word of cheer, as a heavy ship drags 
upon its anchor, and are equally sustained by its in- 
spiring weight. Indeed, so trying is a captain's position 
made by the wearisome plaints of seasick passengers 
through, demands made upon his assurances of safety 
by nervous, frightened women, and sometimes by 
womanish men, that we have thought his character 
should be an epitome of all the virtues which distin- 
guished some of the Biblical saints, — the meekness of 
Moses, the patience and endurance of Job, with the 
faith and eloquence of Paul, upon whom was imposed 
the task of encouraging the crestfallen crew, saying, 
" I exhort you to be of good cheer : for there shall be 
no loss of any man's life among you.'^ 

A romance at sea being particularly refreshing and 
exciting, we are glad, after becoming fairly embarked 
upon our voyage, to discover that we have the germ of 
one within our midst. All are on the qui vive, as the 
whisper grows rife, and are eager to learn all that can 
be gleaned from the communicative informant. 

To go back a little, — some twenty-five years ago, 



320 WANDERING THOUGHTS. 

a young Englishman, of good family and position, 
bat whose fortunes he must himself expect to carve, 
full of enterprise and laudable ambition, made his 
arrangements to sail for America, hoping in its inviting 
fields to reap a rich crop of wealth. 

But there was a drawback ; his heart had been given 
and his faith plighted to a noble woman. A widowed 
invalid mother and an aunt claimed, as she thought, 
her care, and with much suffering, but strong in cour- 
age, tlie lovers parted. 

Years passed before the mother died, and soon after 
the beloved aunt became a bedridden sufferer. The 
lover in the mean time had planted his energies, as it 
proved, in a rich soil, and was already harvesting their 
results. He wrote to his betrothed, urging their mar- 
riage, but she, pleading her aunt's dependence, accepted 
the sacrifice which she felt Providence had imposed 
upon her. In time her lover married another, and 
continued to prosper, while the noble English girl 
plodded on her weary way, performing her duties with 
a submissive cheerfulness which was rewarded by the 
grateful love of her afflicted relative. 

The aunt died, and after some years a rumor floated 
to the ear of the woman who had sacrificed her youth 
to duty, that her quondam lover was now a widower. 
Had she consulted her mirror and surveyed the effects 
of time, her heart must have failed her. She would 



THE VOYAGE. 321 

have seen that the slightness of youth had given place 
to an unbecoming rotundity, that all grace of outline 
had been lost in unwieldy proportions, the hair tinged 
with gray, and that the light of youth had faded from 
her eyes through years of watching by a sick-bed. 

What, then, must have been her dismay to find that 
the lover of her youth was on the ocean, on his way to 
see her ! 

- He came. A quarter of a century had failed to oblit- 
erate early impressions; Love had successfully defied 
Time, that wrecker of beauty and freshness. Was it 
an ideal he loved, or did he recognize through the worn 
casket the brilliancy and purity of the soul-gem within? 
We will not withdraw the veil from those human 
hearts; but can we not imagine that their memories 
o'erleapt the chasm of years; that they were once 
more young and revelling in lifers dreams and hopes of 
happiness; and that now, purified by suffering and 
chastened by the discipline of w^eary waiting, they are 
even the better fitted to be, each to the other, light, joy 
and support down the path of life, round which the 
evening shadows would soon begin to gather? 

Unable to comply with her lover's desire for an 
immediate union, she promised to follow him to his 
adopted home in America within a few months. Find- 
ing it impossible to repeat his absence from a large and 
exacting business, with rare delicacy he sent a female 



322 WANDERING THOUGHTS, 

relative to England to act as coavoy to his bride-elect, 
who is here on the steamer with us ! A short, plump 
figure, with a good, kind face ; short curls dangling on 
each side ; beaming little eyes, which will soon twinkle 
round a good man's hearth ; and presenting, altogether, 
a most attractive picture of a lovable old maid. 

One day, while sitting by our side, she asks if we 
think " that one at her time of life can assimilate to 
the customs of a new country and succeed in feeling at 
home there/' "Most certainly," is the answer, for 
"if home is where the heart is" the fact is assured. 
With a pretty, unaffected shyness she turns towards us, 
her eyes luminous with a tearful light, and murmurs, 
"J think so." 

On our arrival at Philadelphia, custom-house officers 
are forgotten, politeness, too, we fear, in the universal 
desire to see the hero of the drama and to witness the 
greeting of the lovers. But curiosity is not fully grati- 
fied, for the meeting is consummated, very properly, in 
the retirement of a state-room. Presently our hero 
appears, and in every respect proves himself worthy of 
the character. Tall, nobly formed, with a manner of 
great dignity ; hair and whiskers quite gray ; with a 
face so full of benignity and character that we all feel 
that our friend may consider her happiness assured in 
confiding it to his keeping. 

As we drive away we cast back a hurried glance, 



THE VOYAGE. 323 

which reveals a gentleman bending over the short and 
ungraceful figure of his fiancee, as he assists her into a 
carriage, her appearance contrasting painfully with that 
of the distinguished-looking man at her side. 

Let them not regret that their youth is past, for the 
afternoon and twilight of life may be sweeter than its 
morn and meridian. To be sure, the energies may have 
somewhat slackened, the blood may course more gently, 
and the emotions be less vehement in their impulses ; 
but the affections of the heart have struck deeper root 
and are intensified in their power. There are faces, 
too, furrowed by time and worn by the friction of life's 
cares and anxieties, below which the heart beats as 
freshly as when it throbbed within a youthful breast. 



THE END. 



/i 










u- 



v» '^^''^ 

















1^. 



• A ' >G 






.^' 



.^4 ♦ 



.0 



'.,** G^ 

• c 



^^ 






m^ \ 'o V 

















«^^. 






^^.. 



A^ ^'^ 






e 



-^.N 




;2v 



'■*^%^' 



!.^ 



DOBBS BROS. 

LIBRARY BINDING 



'k^ 



>EC- 78' 

ST. AUGUSTINE 

^^#32084 ^-"•^^:^;:^;. • .-; 

,Ck * ft - o ' .^^ 



